Saturday, March 9, 2013


Many years ago, I found this poem by James Hearst in an old magazine. I copied it, framed it and around this time of year, I like to share it with some of my friends. Tonight we will be setting our clocks ahead and I thought it was time to share it again with you. It is like an old friend that speaks of spring and hope and faith and of course the glorious Forsythia.


You said, take a few dry

sticks, cut the ends slantwise

to let in water, stick them

in the old silver cup on the

dresser in the spare room and

wait for the touch of Easter.

But a cold wave protected the

snow, and the sap’s pulse beat

so low underground I felt no

answer in myself except silence.

You said, winter breaks out in

flowers for the faithful and

today when I opened the door

the dry sticks spoke in little

yellow stars and I thought

of you.

                     JAMES HEARST

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