Seasonal

The rain falls down; the worms crawl out, Their squiggles on the road, A feast for all the birdies, The springtime mother lode. The ants will follow as the grass Fills in the barren soil, In search of crumbs or picnics Which they just can't wait to spoil. The spiders soon will spin their webs And bees will start to buzz, Reminding us that in the spring, That's just what Nature does. When flies and then mosquitoes show, We'll know that summer's near And that they'll stick around until Cold mornings reappear.