Welcome back to the Daily Poem here on the Close Reeds Podcast Network. I'm David Kern. Before I get to

today's poem, which is by Phyllis McGinley, and is a perfect poem for the beginning of June.

I want to remind you about our poetry memorization contest here on the Daily Poem. Remember,

you can memorize 12 lines of your favorite

American folk song, a piece of, say, Native American poetry, something of that ilk, something of

that kind of verse. Memorize 12 lines, post the recitation on social media, and then add the hashtag TDP contest.

So hashtag TDP contest.

And then on June 15th, we will be choosing winners from each of the different age groups.

So again, don't forget about that.

Today's poem is by, as I said, Phyllis McGinley.

She was an American author of children's books and poetry.

She lived from 1905 to 1978.

She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961.

Her poetry is light verse, specializing often in humor, satire.

And unlike many of the popular poets who I have read on this

podcast, she actually focuses much for work on suburban life as opposed to rural or agrarian life,

which for whatever reason has been focused more not really on purpose on this podcast. But this poem is called June

in the suburbs. It seemed like a good poem for June 1st. Goes like this. Not with a whimper,

but a roar of birth and bloom this month commences. The wrens a gossip at her door.

Roses explode along the fences. By day the chattering mowers cope with grass, decreed a final winter.

Darkness delays. The skipping rope twirls in the driveway after dinner.

Through lupine-lighted borders now for winter bones, Dalmatians forage.

...