Friday, March 09, 2012
Some days it seems as if Atticus and I are in a race to The Writer's Almanac. He beat me to this one the other day, suggesting it for Poetry Friday. I am in complete agreement.
by Luci Shaw
March. I am beginning
to anticipate a thaw. Early mornings
the earth, old unbeliever, is still crusted with frost
where the moles have nosed up their
cold castings, and the ground cover
in shadow under the cedars hasn't softened
for months, fogs layering their slow, complicated ice
(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)
Poetry will be gathered in today at Gathering Books.