April Full Moon Sonnet

Hail, lady Moon, as earth breaks free of frost
but no tree yet recalls how to birth green.
Titmouse and woodpecker, heard but not seen,
even listless, untutored ears accost.
Catbird chitters, “I am lost! I am lost!”
Now rain-dampened woods awake from a dream
of paw-quilted snow. Ancient maples lean,
gnarled, bolled and scarred, thickly-waisted and mossed,
among younger alders, ashes and pines;
they recall to mind long-claimed tithes of sap.
Who harvests from them now but dour worms,
beetles spinning sweet to chitin and spines?
Grow and spread seed, or die in winter’s trap;
all life accepts these simple contract terms.

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