Treasure Island

Bernard Kennedy

(20 May 1956 / dublin)

as the frost lifts


the frost is lifting,
so crunching boot ground sounds
soften in the spring,
though fugue like
the air is a cold rhapsody
in dublin south morning.

Hope does not spring,
merely uncoils itself
warmed into joy.
yes, nature is never spent
except
where economic matters
cull the reservoir.

Submitted: Friday, February 22, 2013
Edited: Friday, February 22, 2013
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a green poem

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