Golden Tongues
Oh, the red bits of swollen tongue
upon the gray of maple have plumped
like the cheeks of small children red with run!
The bangs of pussy willow frond
will soon tickle the noses of man swept dust,
baring the fragrance of balsam-pine leavings
scattered with the golden tinsel
of Christmas garland.
The ripening earth cracks smiles
toothy with tulip spears and narcissus cones.
The wind is sweet with kisses
and the jays laugh raucously
in the grasping branches of maple.
The dust of days past dances joyously onward
dreaming of cozy eddies amongst the violets.
Oh, Spring of the golden tongue
play poet to my pen.
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