robert dickerson - Terce

Focus on a crocus.
Watch it open it's lips like a catcher's mitt.
What does it want?
A purple feather to match a yellow?
A melody?

Many clambor from the earth
singing new vows like folk songs.
Could you make
so similar concession to
a shy god?

Day, oh day
newfound and forthcoming;
hung with coronets of bays
There is the cant of a brook, no matter where-
There is a healing

robert dickerson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/terce/