Sunday, March 6, 2011



He has risen.

Soup, my true sign of spring.

We celebrate our 25th anniversary this year.

Buy us a silver ring.

A three good legged desert tortoise awakens from hibernation.

Forsythia peeks from the snow forcing blooms, a golden bell.

He muddled in his burgundy milk crate.

Morse code tapping signs to be free from the garage hell.

Under the rose bushes he waits. Little buddy, there are no petals yet.



Herbs grow in the knot garden.

My man with sleep bugs in your eyes.

Sunbathe in the open, go crazy under the waxing moon.

You do not need to hunt for flies.

To protect you from the pool, I built a fence four feet deep by three tall.

Three weeks of construction, you crash it soon.



Our dogs kiss your feet, “slow playmate come on please.”

Your leathery tongue plows along in my sweet peas.

Forget hunky Hades and Persepone, they do not control the season.

It is Soup who knows every secret of spring with grand reason.

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