Behind the house, the river trills
O’er rocks and stones it tumbles, spills.
Little freshets join its song,
Freed from winters far too long.
Golden leaf escapes its bud,
The paths and roadways turn to mud.
Clotheslines sag beneath the tugs
Of heavy quilts and braided rugs.
Crocuses and hyacinths
Poke their heads up, inch by inch,
Purple harbingers of spring,
That stand for all this season brings.
Naked maples, now on tap,
Dented pails collecting sap
Pussy willows, softly preened,
Birch and poplars, newly greened.
I can’t conceive a single thing
That brings more joy than lovely Spring!
Photos/text © Nancy J. Bond