Paper shamrocks and green bagels,
beer-foam and pancakes,
banners and confetti and
bands on the march, lauding
the Irish for things not so smart,
ah, but I’ve seen different…

A half-cloudy morning,
after Sunday’s light rain,
brought yard-searching pleasure
for treasures unseen. We found
purple beads of grape hyacinth
amid spears of deep green,
tiny grass-daffodils
poking through shabby brown grass
and pink-tinged, hooded tulips
with spring-green aphids attached…

Into the house to prepare for a trek,
down to the river, too long ago been,
picnic and water with buckets and bags
to gather the spirits of Life’s precious things,
we picked up our friends
and rushed to the site…reveling in
freedom of Winter’s cold light.
And we found…

Thickets of aspen leaves, tiny and proud,
fresh-green’s glowing birth a miracle
for the soul, we spied striking-formed
wild flower foliage so intricately bold, with
teensy-tiny flowers of whites, pinks and golds…
The green-blue of water looked muddied
and swift, creating sounds of greeny-flavored riffs,
along with bird’s freedom of trilling, so sweet,
and old goat’s-head thorns of powerful hold,
which stuck right into
my youngest daughter’s big toes…

Catastrophe rendered flower picking a void,
we plucked and we giggled, to her uncontrollable
rage, some coddling and green tea and
friendship colored free, brought the true
gift of St. Patrick’s glee, into
our lives without false-thinking dreams,
'tis the season of growth that makes
the Irish so green.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
3/17/03 Copyright ©