Spring...

It has snowed here... all day. I am aching for Spring, and longing for warmer days and less rain. So, perhaps you will forgive me for posting another poem by e.e. cummings, but it's been snowing...

Spring is like a perhaps hand

(which comes carefully

out of Nowhere)arranging

a window, into which people look(while

people stare

arranging and changing placing

carefully there a strange

thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully