At Union Square the twigs are twisting
and the pussy-willow
The trees are thickening and budding.
On Long Island, the young ones are set to work digging
and the skies are brilliant bright in the city.
On the High Line crews are cutting back winter’s dead growth - observed from above by a rather languid maiden.
At home, daffs are picturesque
as are tulips.
At the diner on the corner Mr. Beady-Eyes tells us he’s thinking of hopping.
Today it’s pouring with rain, of course
But tomorrow I start planting the tree pits.