It is spring, and some cherry blossoms are out. Almost November.
William Stafford wrote:
Learning A piccolo played, then a drum. Feet began to come—a part of the music. Here came a horse, clippety clop, away. My mother said, “Don’t run— the army is after someone other than us. If you stay you’ll learn our enemy.” Then he came, the speaker. He stood in the square. He told us who to hate. I watched my mother’s face, its quiet. “That’s him,” she said. Stafford, William. Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems of William Stafford (Kindle Locations 375-381). Graywolf Press. Kindle Edition.