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Spring in New Hampshire
by
Robert Manchester


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I can hear them
In the distance.
Geese.

Sugaring shack,
Maple tree sap.
Boiled down to
Syrup.

Hopping, looking,
Head cocked to side.
Robins.

A patch of snow
Waits for the sun.
April.

© by Robert Manchester.
Used with the author’s permission.

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Robert Manchester lives in New Hampshire, surrounded by leafy trees, stone walls, memories of Robert Frost, and lots of living poetry legends. He’s been writing and publishing poems for 50+ years, but quite prefers writing to submitting, so seldom gets around to the latter. Robert confesses that he likes to write edgy poems about the "underbelly of life--the junk cars, tumbledown trailers, goat pens in the front yard, and the like," though he also likes haiku and, of late, is experimenting with syllable and meter.

 

 


Post New Comment:
Eiken:
Lovely work.
Posted 04/27/2012 04:09 AM
otzieinsc:
It makes me homesick....Robert Frost taught at my high school 1906-1911.
Posted 04/13/2012 06:58 PM
LindaCrosfield:
You caught it!
Posted 04/11/2012 12:38 PM
KevinArnold:
A pleasant rhythm. The correct form.
Posted 04/11/2012 08:57 AM
John:
Wonderful poem. So much depends on April. And I like that the only three-syllable line is "boiled down to."
Posted 04/11/2012 08:03 AM
phebe.davidson@gmail.com:
Nicely done!!!--April is indeed that sort of month.
Posted 04/11/2012 06:43 AM


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