Spring is the roses seen through my windowpane,
The baby buds on tree limbs in lemon-greens,
Cherry-blossom showers across city street lanes,
Bulging blooms of color and fat honeybees.
Spring is the richness of a carpet of emeralds,
Sharp-bladed-straight as individual soldiers,
Red-chested robins worming my lawn, those heralds
Of morning, early despite that it’s colder.
Spring is the newness of chicks and of lambs,
The tiniest bunnies and new baby colts.
Humans are pushing their babies in prams,
And children of school age are starting revolts.
Spring is the shedding of fur and of coat,
No sleeves, the fashion as the sun warms the earth.
Hibernating beasts come out to gloat
As nature flourishes in sudden rebirth.
Spring is the attitude of youth and of smiles,
The time when everyone's happy and free.
No more snow chains or dwindling wood pile,
For summer is coming. It’s now guaranteed.
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