Notes About The Poem
Children Playing Beside a Stream by Dorothea Sharp, circa 1930
Spring Sonata
My pen does not write in flowery verse,
no pink cherry blossoms,
no dew kissed earth;
but the sun on my shoulders is warm,
and the wind has become a mirth-filled breeze
bringing fragrance like a winter receding.
The river once raging and flooding the fields
is now confined to its course by the passing of time;
soon in its shallows the children will frolic,
and laughter shall echo the length of the valley.
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