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I have somewhat followed the NaPo prompt to write about a recurring event.
Well May 1 comes every year (so far!) but more to the point, my dance group Renegade Rose dances up the sun with other like minded morris dancers in a decades if not centuries long tradition. We will be at a local high elevation point tomorrow at 5:45 am and dancing most of the day. This poem is related to both the return of “summer” — in the British tradition summer begins May 1, and gathering to keep that promise of tradition alive.

April 30, 2017
I am in a fractured mood
the sun, finally the sun, breaks into spring.
I count the blessings there, turn
to face the mounting afternoon.
I’m setting the groundwork for tomorrow
when May sun coils to bring us
warmer days and better weather.

The queen of May wants pressed shirts,
wants protein and ice cream for breakfast
wants coffee and a nip of brandy to be sure Cold
will keep his distance. But it is April
yet, when spring promises have been broken
in hail and rain and sporting wind.

It comes round every year. We regale ourselves
with last year’s recollect. Remember to
look at the dim ground when we rise
the ground that is indeed split, green, open,
the lilacs that finally have broken bud.
The queen of May wants
for nothing.