Edna St. Vincent Millay's haunting and daunting (and blessedly short) lyric poem "Spring" may be the poem we need right now: an expression of post-World War I PTSD, told by a speaker out of sync with the seasons, out of step with the world. It feels like this moment. It reads like this moment. Join me, Mark Scarbough, as I explore the wild truth that Millay appears to convey so easily--although there's never anything easy about telling the truth.