poem no. 1

        

on a cold spring night
as when daffodils bloom in waves 
delighting the starry moonlight,
while limbs of the giant tulip poplars, still bare, still stoic, roiled in the stiff jagged wind, wait still, just a bit longer;
now, when spring toads warble in pockets of promise
and brave song birds muster, and join their voices to hasten slumbering dawn,
now, when the grip of the long and frigid gloaming
loosens against the cheerful surge;
See the leader who's to meet them scurry to and fro,
befit with such utter importance,
yet succeeding only in illustrating the venal limitations
of those left to lean on slippery and vapid dogma
unable to stop the sureness of the march.
                         
                              by John William Trotz