Terce Poem by robert dickerson
Terce
Focus on a crocus.
Watch it open it's lips like a catcher's mitt.
What does it want?
A purple feather to match a yellow?
A melody?
Many clambor from the earth
singing new vows like folk songs.
Could you make
so similar concession to
a shy god?
Day, oh day
newfound and forthcoming;
hung with coronets of bays
There is the cant of a brook, no matter where-
There is a healing
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5/4/2024 5:00:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
