I dug the holes
and covered the acorns
with the disembodied
spirit of hope

Maybe in death
life would live

I hold on tight
to the frozen
dawns of winter's
demise

The days grow
in rows of  
interpretude
Collecting
pole dancing soltices
and bi-polar
equinoxes
chardonarily
intoxicated
in literary analyses
from southern France


Ah , but those acorns
so full of promise
Maybe they will oak out
and I can someday
be the earthern
reality infusing
the return of
spring again