Ah, Billy Collins. In my humble opinion, Billy Collins has never written a bad poem; certainly, he’s never published a bad poem. He writes with equal parts humor and seriousness. His poetry is graceful, exuberant, thoughtful, and infinitely approachable. His poems are usually longer than this one, but when I read this again today, I just had to share it with you.
This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.—Psalms 118:24
Today
Billy Collins
If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.
well, today is just that kind of day.
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