First, the forsythia

Out of the brown lawns
they are the first throats
to burst into open-mouthed yes,
shouting yellow all along the branches
warmed in March sun,
While bare sticks of osier dogwood
hang back, scratch
red streaks of promise
on the rainy sky -
it will be May
before they offer up
an evenhanded praise.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...