Frank C. Praeger- A Poem

I Celebrate 
 
I celebrate the least among us, 
a clanging, 
a gang, 
urbane microbes, 
ourselves. 
Past grape hyacinth, perwinkle we walked  
as we had walked before. 
Past 
our ratcheted up pasts, 
our tattered dreamtimes, 
past catkin berribboned trees 
into the turbulent torturous onward growing green, 
flagrant, 
precipitous. 
Past tulips, forget-me-nots, dog turds, horsetails - 
immense demonic onrushing spring. 
Past our furtherest reach 
the pussy willows dream. 
We have kept walking where we had walked before. 
Faded fortune's best 
attested to. 
Brazenly indifferent 
to climatic, gripped, 
incandescently  
brief surges. 
Trees, wind, and driven rain. 
What's left? 
parched cacophony's spring? 
Attenuated,  
lessened to a brown-green?   
Not to have stood still, 
a litany of gross, 
flamboyant, 
unprepared to be compost.