One last poem before the NaPoWriMo fades away for another year, just to wish you a happy May Day.
In the grey brown woods this morning
green clouds rolled along the ground
Not much on May first is revealed
but an early leafing bush or shrub
throughout the undergrowth.
Leaves so small that
as I drive by
I see only the pale columns of trees,
a millenium of fallen debris
and round globes filled with
impossibly green specks.
In the silly rush of May Day
I imagine these clouds
tumbling along behind the passing cars
or rolling slowing, pushed by wind,
down the hill into town.
Happy May Day.