Today's poem is by Laura Kasischke


The howling pretends to bring on winter,

but the howling was there all along.

In the miniature roses, in the tiny bees,

in the glittering bits of whatever that was
we called the wind when it was spring:

(Oh, remember, Sweetheart, we called it breeze.)

Copyright © 2004 Laura Kasischke All rights reserved
from Gardening in the Dark
Ausable Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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