A Random Act of Poetry, by e.e. cummings
I’m still buried in a forest of tax documents — I’ve reached the “Where is that one last form I need?” phase. Sadly, that one last form appears to be nowhere in the house, even though Daddyo and I both remember seeing it, so it must be around here somewhere. Maddening. Absolutely maddening.
So to buy one more day for the hunt, I’m outsourcing today’s post to E. E. Cummings.
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)andchanging 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)andwithout breaking anything.
— e. e. cummings via poets.org
Happy Spring!
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