Poet's Corner

[xtheunknown]

March



The hill advances like the swell of a hip
Dwindling into an ankle of meadow
Where cows nibble tidbits of mustard toes
How feminine, how soft rolls the green sward
In an undulating beguiling wave of green
Pregnant with Spring
Someday I half expect a gentle green giantess to rise
Out of the sleeping hill, and stretch
And plod softly away
Strewing cows and mustard in her wake
raising clouds of birds out of the hummocks of her green hair