Hail, lady Moon, throwing rainbows through fog.
Three robins bury beaks deep in new grass,
feeding on earthworms, letting ants pass,
whose mandibles chew holes in rotted log.
Skunk cabbage blooms, bright green, in swamp oak bog.
Marsh reeds rustle, trouble water’s glass;
waterbed whirlpools into small-mouth bass.
Doe eats with kidlings, but lonely stands stag.
Shock upon finding Canada lily
blooming a whole moon before its season
sets chipmunk digging for bulb in damp earth.
Frost spiders grass, as twilight sinks, chilly
gossamer clinging to soil’s broad bosom,
and songbirds give voice to pangs of rebirth.
This is so unbelievably late, that maybe I shouldn’t bother. Thanks to Adam Rubenstein and for encouragement and suggestions, however vague they might have been. It helped a lot.