Here's a wonderful poem by Amy Shutzer:
WHAT TO DO ON SPRING EQUINOX
Compost this poem.
Take out all the words that remind you of winter,
bare limbs of words that stick into the sky and shake.
Prune out dead wood;
rough ragged never gonna fruit,
done is done!
Pay attention to what is here,
not what isn't.
Send your roots into another row or field or bed.
Mow. Rake up all the grass.
Layer, as if you're expecting hail or a deep frost;
the end of winter is always unpredictable.
Add manure, plenty of manure
and call in the flies, the dung beetles, the worms.
Soon, there will be heat. Steam.
The pile will soften, break down, give in, let go.
Compost winter into spring,
take off those old clothes you've been wearing,
the despair like a hat on your head,
dig into the pile,
into the heat and the heart of what matters.
Plant your garden and remember, each year,
everything will be different;
compost what you can.
Luci Grossmith
"I heard a wood thrush in the dusk
Twirl three notes and make a star —
My heart that walked with bitterness
Came back from very far.
Three shining notes were all he had,
And yet they made a starry call —
I caught life back against my breast
And kissed it, scars and all."
Sara Teasdale - Wood Song, 1884-1923.
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