Early Mud

Yesterday, March 8, it hit 60F/16C at the Cat Farm.  Snow melted, mud appeared.  It was, in short, a mess.

Come evening, came the winds, and on the overnight, rain.  It’s a bright and sunny 40F/4C as I type, and the landscape is a wasteland of puddles, hardened heaps of slag-colored snow, low-lying mud wallows, and dust-devils doing square dances up and down the road.

So!  To celebrate the coming of, erm, not-winter, today’s guest poet is e.e. cummings.

 

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it’s

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it’s

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

                –e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.