Here, in the sun-speckled woods today,
Where the moss carpet’s odor and damp bark smell
Distract from the trilliums’ display,
Springtime has woven the perfect spell.
It seeps to me slowly, through my pores.
On this day of days, when I take, not give,
Finding breathlessly new encores,
I hope nobody minds if I just want to live…
by Ray Romine Saturday, January 13, 1951
