We wish you good macro results,
We wish you good macro results,
We wish you good macro results…
And lots of them too.

To count them we’ll use spreadsheets,
To count them we’ll use spreadsheets,
To count them we’ll use spreadsheets...
For every season.

Good macros we count,
Stoneflies and mites
Good snails and mayfies
We all have to count.

We counted a lot of macros,
We counted a lot of macros,
We counted a lot of macros...
And have lots more to go!

Our minds can’t simply take it,
Our minds can’t simply take it,
Our minds can’t simply take it…
There’s just too much to count!

We spoke last month—
A bygone era.
In the park you photographed the birds:
The variety of ducks in the wetland,
The stray, courting cardinals,
And the eager chickadees that repeated
On the thin branches of the lakeside brush;
The mellow piping made us forget a minute
Of the cold February weather.

And afterwards, I told you of
What you may call the sin of love,
What I had dreamed the spring would bring:
Delivery of novel things.
The sunlight dancing off the streams,
The paths we stroll a handsome pair—
Now nothing fair is left to dream.

The steel light of evening stains the gull-polluted river.
The robins and starlings nag from the treetops, barking
Hopeless hymns to the dim and empty ether.
The stoneflies swarm and breed on park benches,
The rain-clogged swale catches dead leaves like a gutter,
And in the air the stench of spring—