Poem | March

March

Spring sinews the morning –

Crackles the dawn –

Seeps through my blanket thoughts

To my wool wrapped bones.

 

Tractors make me glad

As I trickle behind them –

I dream-hope their tilling.

 

Earth is waking and stretching –

Her slumbering soil warming

Under the singing Sun.

 

It makes my bones itch

To dig – and to sit –

Let my bones listen

in the snap-cool air.

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