The Blackbirds of April

From every post and stalk the blackbirds flash
their epaulets and play commander,
play inspector of the Spring
like Washington, his hair still dark,
surveyed the upstart nation.

The redbud swells and they peruse it.
Edges of the field they mark
and split-rail fences stand them vantage
when the sweet vermilion sweeps the berries
and they note it.

Fine inky sirs and inky madams, I enlist.
Your regiment of clerks and nascent diplomats
are every one required
to quill each slightest peep
of pearleaf through the bud

and I enlist.

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