Beneath the snow, behind the clouds, biding midst the trees,
the spirit blithe of springtime, lay waiting to be freed.
With eager heart, her bluebells vie, with snowdrops and monkshood,
their joyous tolls of colour, ringing brightly through the wood.
The buds of spring reach up to touch, half remembered blue of sky,
that bleached the clouds and painted streams, as winter melted by.
Great regiments of daffodils, stand ranked in golden pride,
like medals borne by veteran hills, that brushed the foe aside.
The rolling verdant hills of grass, with scented breezes bend,
as Spring, in all her glory bids, Hello as Winter ends.
Copyright © DAVID WALLACE