Regeneration

Regeneration must begin somewhere.
For some, it's how the sun rises each day,
For others, watching little children play,
Or peonies rise. Some may even swear
They feel life surging through each strand of hair,
Although those people should be put away.
In springtime, all that people seem to say
Rings with this nonsense. It's a sad affair.

For me, regeneration starts right here.
I use the same materials once more –
The same iambic metre, and this store
Of images: a beer, a bear, a bier,
A baby, flower pots, a severed ear –
And look! A sonnet heading out the door.