Great Regulars: I suspect that one thing some people have

against reading poems is that they are so often so serious, so devoid of joy, as if we poets spend all our time brooding about mutability and death and never having any fun. Here Cornelius Eady, who lives and teaches in Indiana, offers us a poem of pure pleasure.

A Small Moment

from Ted Kooser: American Life in Poetry: Column 197

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