My Dad Works In a Shipping Yard

Oh so much to say, but the siren song of withdrawn, dead Germans keeps me from home. Home being someday offering an explanation of the previous post and, if it's still timely and, if I'm not seduced by the honey-sweet lotuses, finishing my love letter to Iraq on our anniversary.

But at least there's this. Something for the first day of spring

Springtime Prayer
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

For flowers that bloom about our feet,
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet,
For song of bird, and hum of bee,
For all things fair we hear or see,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!

For blue of stream and blue of sky,
For pleasant shade of branches high,
For fragrant air and cooling breeze,
For beauty of the blooming trees,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!

Oh that's not right...- spring has turned out to be very unpoetic with its gloom. This is better.

De spring is sprung,
De grass is riz,
I wonder where dem boidies is?
Dem boids is on de wing,
But dat's absoid,
I always tot de wings wuz on de boid.

Anonymous until I hear otherwise.

Holding my tongue out of need with some difficulty.