It Is Spring Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

watched invisibly by their elders from behind makeshift drapes
over broken sidewalks, up stoops, through windowpanes,
past the blinds of lids, corneas, the iris's radial curtain
runs the image, through the lens

standing on its side, to be solved by the brain declaiming
'All is well; all will be well'-
why, not to acknowledge this picture
or hear these hatchery songs

is to overlook the limbic of life, itself!
Oh, teeming ages- image pleasant enough, this:
many worse offer themselves as grist
for contemplation;

So, I'll go with it- the Spring, the song and all...