copeland morris MAY

When fate demands to be
Before the eye, it takes its voice
From a starling and catches the tone
Of her scolding, fussing with her nest,
Coaxing her fattening chicks
Before they fledge, before they
Are ready to fly. And she who filled
The nest with tokens of past years
Rewoven, drives them further with what life
Feels like; and all its heaving splendor
Comes full harvest. It is May alright,
May even so, with stabs of cold wind
That no one welcomes; but she is in
Fine voice, still there, scolding.