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
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