Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain

soaring in spring

How about something a little more uplifting?

at winter's end I can't help but sing
for the world's happiest in the spring
this I know as well as anything

in springtime I'll awake before dawn
my legs shakey as a newborn fawn
with hair a mess and my face long drawn

Then I feel a breeze swirl around me
I ascend like a white dove set free
soaring overhead it's her I see