by Gary Yoder

What fog-fold forest softness
And breeze-brush touch tenderness!
O world beloved!
What earnest thrush-song
And vivid finch flares
Accost, flame, infuse!
Language falls mute,
Too tongue-tied to tell
The spring-sense,
The holy hubbub,
The frill-frenzied excess
Of one spring morning.

Gary enjoys parenting, word-play, music composition, photography, painting, patristics, dispatching pumpkin pie, and plenty other reputable pastimes.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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