Down Where the Forsythia Blooms

Down where the Forsythia blooms Birds of Spring sing a tune Each species calls to its mate Come to me and corpulate Soon baby birds will give a chirp Begging for the abunbance of newborn bugs As the jet streaks across the sky Birds fly across the woods close by In the window boxes on the porch French Tarragon leaves does sport Six or seven inches high offering Seasonings for some meat pie The pear is full of tiny blooms Leaves newly sprouting to springs tune On the horizon in the rising mist Pale pink color of spring's newest dress Cindy has joined me trying to read From my feeble attemt at po-e-try She chews my pen then my thumb She thinks I am food for her...she's so dumb Roosters are crowing loud and long Attracting a mate to rear some young It is cold and getting colder Better go inside and clothes fold--er