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Far in the distance voices are calling out her name.
Grown weary of winter, she hears them exclaim,
"Spring, please come early and rid us of the cold.
We long to feel sunshine's touch in rays of gold!"

She smiles, knowing that she's been sorely missed,
then softly sighs as if by a lover she'd been kissed.
It's time for her to rise, better to be early than late
when summoned not by a clock or a calendar date.

Spring's fingers will melt the last crystals of snow.
Soon, peeking above ground, tulips begin to grow.
Trees welcome budding leaves and birds are singing.
It's the season of renewal and hope she's bringing.

With but a wisp of her breath, valleys become lush.
Gardens of colorful flowers painted with her brush.
Children excitedly run through fields with bare feet,
and bees drink nectar from each bloom they meet.

After months of deep sleep, it's time for her to ascend,
and engage Brother Winter over weather they contend.
She'll still his hand from blowing winds from the north,
and herald in a milder climate as she ventures forth.

Her dressing gown replaced with suitable work clothes,
she gets busy thawing streams that frigid winds froze.
Then, she'll sing with robins and dance with daffodils.
As Spring, it's her duty to restore life on verdant hills.


February 25, 2023  ~  In Bloom Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May

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