This Springtime Day
Young brothers sport
Brown leather mitts,
The ball they toss
Is white, not scuffed,
And on the walk
A robin hops
While joggers pant
Along the lane—
Yes, spring has come,
Chill days have fled,
And barren trees
Flaunt verdant buds
As women, young,
Don skimpy skirts
To catch the eyes
Of virile men
Enjoying sun
This springtime day.
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