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First Rain of Spring

By John I. Blair

It is the Ides of March;
And, lying here in bed
Feeling sorry for myself
About a painful tooth,

I hear the sound of rain,
First hard rain of the year.
Wind moans in the yard
Past corners of the house,

Ringing mellow chimes
That rarely sing
Since I hung them
In an angle of the deck.

Fat drops drum fast
Upon the roof, misting my view
Of plum and quince,
Wisteria and rose.

Trees, still bare of leaves,
Creak a bit; squirrels scold
From under eaves; well-fed birds
Chirp within the hollies by the path.

As sweet as anything
By Brahms or Liszt
This soothing melody
This symphony of Spring.

2014 John I. Blair


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