Folds of White
The hills are clothed in gleaming folds of white,
With flow'rs, whose heady fragrance fills the air:
The spring has come, the sun pours out his light
On three small children playing without care.
The girl weaves knots of flowers in her hair,
Her brothers tumble down the hills and play;
They each enjoy the spring their special way.
{January 3d, 2014}
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014
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