THE SNOW piles in dark places are gone.
Pools by the railroad tracks shine clear.
The gravel of all shallow places shines.
A white pigeon reels and somersaults.
  
Frogs plutter and squdge—and frogs beat the air with a recurring thin steel sliver of melody.
Crows go in fives and tens; they march their black feathers past a blue pool; they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug sits on my hand washing his forelegs.
I might ask: Who are these people?

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 8. Just Before April Came
Volume: Smoke and Steel
- V. Mist Forms
Year: Published/Written in 1922
Poem of the Day: Sep 18 2010
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