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
where economic matters
cull the reservoir.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (as the frost lifts by Bernard Kennedy )
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