The Call of Spring
The birds sit on the willow;
The sun peeps from the sky.
Downstream the noisy rivers flow,
And busy ants scurry by.
A butterfly with rainbow color
Runs wildly as a vine -
Passing o're the flowers
In paths of strange designs.
The flower trees are bending:
Smiling to the rain.
Gigantic trees are mending;
And summer dawns again.
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