We’ve Suddenly Remembered our determination to share poetry with you sometimes. So today of course calls for something about Spring, and we’ve found a good one by Edward Estin Cummings (1894-1962), who loved to write simply and playfully; who was a volunteer ambulance driver in France in World War I, and ended up in prison there on suspicion of espionage; and who was the second most widely-read poet when he died, after Robert Frost. He was buried in the Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston.


Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

Fascinating, don’t you think? We checked in different places to see if that bracket thing is a mistake, but it doesn’t seem to be! It’s tempting to fix it the way WE would have arranged the lines, etc., but, it would seem too… "saccreligious" (sp?) I suppose "perhaps" means "perhaps warmer weather really IS coming"?

Anyway, today The Mom intends to go out and check on that "perhaps hand"!

Walk to Rivendell:  We begin our 5th day from Weathertop (Oct. 11th).

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