These things make Maine apples sharp
As sweet notes running up a harp:
Our winters close to flowers and fruits,
Enamel luster of our skies,
The sorrow in our frostflowers' eyes,
Brevity of our sudden summers,
Thunder drumming like bass-drummers
Below white Andes in the west.
Our hard soil gives our apples zest,
The spark-eyed chickadees' fast tune,
Wild sadness of the lonely loon,
The salt that blows in from the sea,
The bayberry, the rosemary,
Needles and knives of fir and pine,
Granite in the Maine State spine,
The wind that's never far away
Around the corner of a day,
The dance of secret polar light,
The quick beams of our sun at night.
In this apple in your fingers
The splendor of the Maine year lingers,
This globe arching your hand apart
Is Maine's cool and beautiful heart.
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posted by cog_nate at 2:07 PM on May 8, 2008