Where are the
sounds of spring? Ay where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music
too, --
--John Keats
Like plucked spring
chickens
We aspire our breath eclectic
Gaily nay-saying ephemera of the past
Vainly painstaking etcetera
next-to-last:
Break file and be
A short and silent thing
Like a chicken, plucked in
spring.