Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods
and pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around
tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of
trees as the sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on
the living sea, to you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries and Third-month twigs offer'd
fresh to young persons wandering out in the fields
when the winter breaks up
today i spoke to God, but all he said was "neon"
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Happy NY