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          By Taylor Graham

          Spring's song is a bleating goat
          dipping his narrow lips to the soft
          fringed tips of purple vetch, then
          buttercup to blackberry and rip-
          gut-brome, annual rye, chess, clover.
          He nips down all the volunteering
          green of overwintered garden,
          composting as he goes. Spring's song
          is a rusty bell at his throat
          ringing each step, and bumblebees
          that weave the garden's stock-
          wire fence; the every-season tune
          that good black humus hums,
          whether we're listening or not.

          © Copyright 2004, Taylor Graham, All Rights Reserved

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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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