Last of the Frost

On a cold April morning the fields and meadows twinkle and sparkle in a low morning sun, As cold as the east winds are thick frost glitters from the frozen moisture on the grass, A lilac stands bold and uncaring it's so fresh and green, thick and bushy very beautiful, It's no longer clustered with mere buds but flushed with half unclosed snow white leaves, I stand by this brave little flower the bunches of future blossoms are all there to see. As the lilac shivers in these early spring mornings it waits patiently for some friends, A little yellow rose peep out from hard frozen ground, then out she comes for a new year, The bursting blossoms of an old pear tree gives a lavish promise of beautiful sweet fruit, And the rose bushes, not only have new leaves but very long red shoots, this chilly April, A syringa is fully dressed in its pale green leaves, amid them, the buds hang abundantly. Once again the taccamahac is studded with yellow aromatic and sticky leaves out in the cold, I walk along the plantations and in the fields, large gummy buds appear from chestnut trees, They're swelling, bursting out impatiently brightening the wood side, in a bright sunlight, As they look up towards the cold sun they find a little bit of heat in the suns golden rays, Even hedges have patches of green spreading in a biting east wind that nips ears and noses.