Jerry the Talking Flower

Hello. My name is Jerry. I've come out of hiding to wish you Happy Spring. How about that, huh? Another season upon us and all that comes with it---like change and growth and allergies. Don't get me wrong. I love spring. When else do I get to stretch my leg?! So, to celebrate the first day of that time of year that represents All The Newness And Hope That Abounds I am going to recite a poem for you by Billy Collins. It's called The Hunt. I like the mastery of wry humor it possesses and also I love the ability Mr. Collins has for taking a concept, reeling it in and placing it right in front of you, like a nice piece of pie. I also think I recognize some of the main characters he's referring to. OK, without any further ado:

The Hunt

Somewhere in the rolling hills and farm country
that lie beyond speech
Noah Webster and his assistants are moving
across the landscape tracking down a new word.

It is a small noun about the size of a mouse,
one that will be seldom used by anyone,
like a synonym for isthmus,
but they are pursuing the creature zealously

as if it were the verb to be,
swinging their sticks and calling out to one another
as they wade through a field of waist-high barley.


Until next time,
Jerry the Talking Flower