TRAD JAZZ SPRING

Almost naked trees
take a deep breath,
fill their l11ngs
ready to blow
the first green trumpets
of spring

They up
tease bare ho11ghs
with a new blues number,
a clarinet voicing
bird song from tap-note
nest sites

An April shower,
drum-heats of rain
freshen the air.
as trombone and sax
cold earth

Sunshine, blossom
swirls its skirts, eyeing
up boys in the band
jives to Bourbon Street
jazz greening up these
ancient woods