A Love Poem for May

The new poem for May goes out into the box tonight.  I make no effort to make the poems fit into current events, or the holiday schedule. I write them the month before they appear, so they are whatever I'm thinking about that month. Nothing in particular suggests that I should write in Middle English in March. 

The world is convulsed with the pandemic as I write this, but a couple of weeks ago I found a Carl Sandburg poem with an interesting form, so I make a love poem from it.  Love is a cause and cure for some convulsions.  More may be required this time.


Lovely



  The damp and softened earth is lovely here,

As unseen enterprise is opened to the air

By the sharp hiss of the blade to the earth.



  Sunbits and shadow are lovely under the oak,

Tossed like a thousand dice among the leaves,

Come to me alone with ancient light.



  This strong woman is lovely too—

With quiet breath and sweet spoor alive as

The rich warmth of just turned earth.