the poems claw their way up

through the icy ground they are born

long before us and always waiting

for spring now they are mating

and making more poems because

they hear music in the distance no

they won’t live forever though

poems have sensitive ears

they know exactly when a train

arrives in a country far away and

when the train runs late they hold

their breath they wonder about

the cause of the delay and all

those people standing deadly stiff

on the platform waiting forever

on something like home