Maine Morning Message
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
We think of Maine, New England and the snow,
The snow that comes so soon in winter or
Fall, even, locked as hard as Allah’s No
Until the power of April makes its bore
Of buds through little crystals made of ice.
Yet maybe we forget, or don’t wake up
As soon as sunrise, so we don’t see spice
Of reddest in the season’s early cup.
The overpowering red distracts from black
And white. New England harbors’ black and white
Are not as strong as hope of scarlet crack
In bad December. Hope refuses blight.
That brightest yellow also blanks out cold
Photograph by Allen Guignardh
To eye. The death of winter there is tolled.
~ Phillip Whidden
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