I wonder what the world was up to
while I was dreaming of caves and tunnels
and babies is red-checked rompers?
Should I turn on the news, listen
to political cutthroatery and nerve gas
and the latest news of poisoned water and sick children?
Will the Taliban have attacked again, another Isis suicide bomber
splattered on a Paris street? Will babies be dying in Mosul,
and who will be the favorite in the Kentucky Derby
and what was the biggest box office hit over the weekend?
Or should I go into the woods, listen
to the wood thrush newly arrived from a southern sojourn,
the rustle of leaves as a chipmunk digs for hidden nuts
from winter’s store, and the overhead blue jay
chatters his unending stream of nonsense?
Will there be orchids and golden ragwort, mayapples
and wild geranium in bloom?
Will the rest of the world keep spinning
while I step off for a while?