The poem has been on my desktop for at least a month... unfinished. Springtime is a right time for love and for watching especially young people trying to figure out what love means.

From the time I rode my bike from the hillside community where I live until I huffed and puffed my way back up Ulrick Road, the natural beauty of the world reassured me that things can come around right in America, in spite of all the posturing in Washington over the new health care program. I am wondering how the folks who have set their minds against a program that makes possible adequate health care for everyone will celebrate Palm Sunday. Haven't they learned anything from the gentle man who rode the donkey into Jerusalem on his way to his death?




AN ADOLESCENT GIRL IN LOVE

Nothing else on earth is as innately intelligent
and ignorant at the same time
as an adolescent girl in love,
an even fifty percent basic instinct
and the rest a muddy muddle of raw longing.
Her mother should be able to understand,
having been there once herself.
Her father has no hope of understanding.
He thinks something has changed in her walk.
Her voice has dropped a fraction of an octave.
Her direct gaze at every living creature
says she knows some new thing,
and he is afraid he knows what it is.

Daffodils two days after they open
show absolutely no signs of wilting.