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