Cancer/Writing Journal #95
Sodden Spring So long to wait And not really worth it. A study in dismal white, Infertile brown, dispirited gray A vast, monotonous variety Of decayed artifacts in a place Where life once was And that, just a shadowed memory. The detritus of autumn. Inert, nothing to bring renewal Anywhere in sight What was Is And will be. Dust or mud, mud or dust Pick one or the other But nothing else. I saw a robin this morning, Heading north, I think. Here is a poem I wrote for my writing group. Things were still prettty dismal at the time of the writers meeting. Since then, it has gotten nice. Jean and I basked in the sun yesterday and poked around in our gardens and found things starting to come up. Residual snow is going fast. The poem is starting to not work which is just fine with me.