by now in most marches — at least at this latitude
Easter is made to look like a foregone conclusion
new life springing forth in every bed and byway
as though resurrection were as natural as daffodils
but this year the dirt has stayed as cold as bones
and the daffodils duped into blooming all alone
so I bend down and whisper into their yellow bells
a story I know about a snow covered cemetery and
children digging for eggs one Easter morning up
north where spring shows up a long time after Jesus
the little ones laughed among the grave stones
and ran like Mary barreling back to tell the others
I was there, I say, I saw life among the tombs yet all
they do is bask in the beauty of their short little lives
Peace,
Milton
That is just beautiful, Milton, thank you.
Barbara
Lovely. Thank you.
milt:
I *have* to point this out: if you ever read this poem aloud, you should know that the correct – read, “correct” – pronunciation of “short-lived” is with a long ‘i’. In other words, “short-lived” (or “short lived”, or whatever you want, typograhically) uses the pronunciation of “live” as in a “live concert”, not “live” as in “live well” … Sorry for bein’ nitpicky, but it’s been a pet peeve of mine for a LOOOOONG time …. AND i think it changes the poetics of yer final line … So, there’s my two cents – or, “too sense” depending on how you “read” it (ha ha! just cracked myself up!) ….
Good point, Mitch. I was taking some poetic license with the last few words in that regard, but now you’ve given me something to think about.
Peace,
Milton