New Spring Shad!

Let poets sing of gentle spring,

     As poets always do;

I’ll pen a lay to find its way

     To hearts and stomachs too.

Let poets dream of field and stream,

     Of birds and lambkins glad;

Today I’ll use my faithful muse

     Upon the new spring shad.

O, grass and bees and budding trees

     Are fine to feed the soul;

And sky and star and worlds afar

     May be the poets’ goal.

But day by day, in my café,

     I wait with feelings sad,

Until I read, with joy indeed:

     “Important! New spring shad!”

O, babbling brooks and sunny nooks

     Are then forgotten quite;

For caterwauls or robin calls

     I have no appetite.

I call the maid, in smiles arrayed,

     With sympathetic tones,

And to her say: “I would today

     A slab of new spring bones!”

March 15, ‘10