(For those not here to enjoy the fest.)

beckoning green

mirrored in the water

with skipping stones

that ripple frost’s final end

butterflies and birds

settle in the budding field

your sleepy head content

to nod that all is well

for the three day weekend

of Spring has come

once again like a stranger

to all gloom and doom

yet far away a band plays

the recollection tunes

of forgotten days

forgotten lives

why you ask can sorrow

cast itself now shading

the view of even better days

with death’s cold shadow?

because it is here now

where it all began

where tiny beasts dutifully

dig their little graves

where parades and tributes

turn holidays into blood

the shrieks of little children

becoming battlefields’ distant calls

where you have lifted up

your nodding head in knowing

this weekend’s sunny scene

was paid for over and over

and over again

Peter Buknatski

Montpelier, Vt.