To the Inhabitants of the Great North American East

 

In the Bleak, see acrimonious,

terrain of March,

(a March still frozen, encrusted

with swathes of rancid snow)

 

there is no Promise

no hope, just desolation,

what appears a permanent

Wasteland

shows no signs

of its Gestating depths

of the buried Life

deep at work,

unalterably,

renewing itself

 

Sap Rising

that mounting Force

Strong As Life Is Strong

Indomitable as it is,

mirrors our Wonder

at seeing it burst

forth, when desperate

and wasted,

we least expect it