Cold Days Poem by Bob Bowers

It is spring.
Daffodils erupt from snow-clouded earth,
Their yellow brightness brighter
Than the warming orb of sun
Afloat in blue-bespeckled sky.

It is sugaring time in New England.
Maples, with their sweet syrup flow,
Spill out their lives,
Bleed through taps and tubes,
Sap distilled by fire to sweet-delicious gold.

Proud trees of our loins
In other lands
Give up, too, the sweetness of their blood
Fulfilling
One man’s dream.


4/7/07