Entombed deep beneath ice and snow,
The birth chamber of spring far below;
Winter days still unfold,
Golden sun sparsely doled,
Cold threshold for the season in throe.
By and by shortened days start to grow,
Melting landscape, diminished ice floe;
Woebegone faces brighten,
Now the snow traces lighten,
A warm glow from the spring dynamo.
The brown bears spring from caves to explore,
Folks inhale the spring air they adore;
Skiers shed gloves and hoods,
Lovers stroll through the woods,
Flowers burst into bloom by the score.
The full glory of spring has arrived,
Days when all living things are revived;
Evergreens shine anew,
Purple finch bill and coo,
The deprived have survived — even thrived.
Copyright 2003 by Joel D. Ash
All Rights Reserved
First buds of spring / Maynard Wheeler
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