One wishes he could walk out and keep on
Walking. The snow is weeping and makes its
Small wetnesses on sidewalk and street. Yes,
The brisk air is thick with morning's long light.
Because the ground is frozen still, the trees
Have not leafed out, have not yet even set
Buds. All winter we wait for things to break
Free, as I do now, standing here mid-stride.
There, somewhere to the south of us, lies hope,
A thin greenness spreading this direction
Like an army taking such hard-fought ground,
This land that we curse and that we cherish.
One wishes he could walk out, yet with each
Step, too, he would have to count his blessings.
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FLOYD BOLIN
TOGETHER AGAIN
JUNE 21, 2002
APRIL 20, 2005 CONT'D - (28)
JUNE 20, 2002
JUNE 20, 2002
MONDAY, JUNE 9, 2008
MONDAY, JUNE 9, 2008