when the world is mud-luscious…
and it’s spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful…
from Chansom Innocente
by e.e. Cummings
It is Just-spring in the ‘shire.
And after days and days of showers and drizzle and rain and downpours,
the world is mud-luscious.
The garden is mud-lucious.
The lanes are mud-lucious.
The fields are mud-lucious.
And Saturday, when the sun smiled shyly and emerged from poof clouds, these words awakened in my mind: "the world is puddle-wonderful."
Thank you, oh, thank you, e.e. Cummings.
I had not revisited you and your quirky poem for decades,
but today you visited me, and I enjoyed the companionship of an old friend.
Puddlesful of wonder (or would that be Puddlefuls?)
Lined with beauty not their own,
revealing more than they know,
Reflecting more than they can hold,
retelling stories they have never heard.