Words: April, First Peepers

blow

flip

scope

quicksilver

 

APRIL, FIRST PEEPERS

Just after dusk,

the moon was already high,

its quicksilver light

rippled in the brook

that flips along the edge 

of our scrubby woods.

I heard one peeper,

then another, and another, 

blow their wild love song

to Spring, to the world,

oblivious of the scope

of our human cares,

oblivious to everything

but their need to go on.

2 comments on “Words: April, First Peepers

  1. Christine Lee Moore says:

    Sometimes I want to be like the peeper.

  2. Do you know Mary Oliver’s “Pink Moon, the Pond”? Look it up if you don’t. Probably my favorite poem.

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