A song to Spring, you lost wanderer.
In March the wild-rose twigs blazed scarlet above the snow,
And new gold curls dressed the willow tree’s tips, dancing in frigid air.
Warblers and geese returned,
And at night under crisp stars, a squishy chorus of tiny frogs rose from the thawing bog.
All proclaimed: Winter’s back is broken!
And we took heart, believed. And waited.