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By Taylor Graham
Spring's song is a bleating goat
dipping his narrow lips to the soft
fringed tips of purple vetch, then
buttercup to blackberry and rip-
gut-brome, annual rye, chess, clover.
He nips down all the volunteering
green of overwintered garden,
composting as he goes. Spring's song
is a rusty bell at his throat
ringing each step, and bumblebees
that weave the garden's stock-
wire fence; the every-season tune
that good black humus hums,
whether we're listening or not.
© Copyright 2004, Taylor Graham, All Rights Reserved
© Copyright 1997, 2019, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 01/06/2007