Spring, rainbows, br ordinary miracles br about which br nothing new can be said. br br The stars on a clear night br of a New England winter; br the soft air of the islands br along the old br Spanish Main; br pirate gold shining br in the palm; br the odor of roses br to the lover's nose. . . br br There is no more poetry br to be written br of these things. br The rainbow's sudden revelation-- br behold! br The cliché is true! br What can one say br but that? br br So too br with you, little heart, br little miracle, br br but you are br no less miracle br for being ordinary.