Wednesday, March 23, 2005
The weather tonight is***
a miserable perfection
of snow, sleet, rain,
wind from the gray North Atlantic,
accompanied by dopplering
ambulance sirens,
winter keens its own death.
A fine evening for hearing the Spring section of Haydn's oratorio The Seasons, composed by the maestro when he was nearly 70.
What's with this fetish President Bush has for bald heads? It was exposed a year ago, but he keeps on doin' it. What a turkey!
Labels: poem
