What Is Spring

So winter yields to springtime, But what is that to me? A birdbath with a blushing bird, Or perhaps a honeybee? Another turn; another trip, Three hundred days, or more— See the hummingbird’s uncertain sip; Hear the dandelion’s roar. Still, maybe I would like the view, To see a rose in bloom— I think I’d pluck the grandest two To decorate my room. And so it is we journey on, Through the summer into fall— Wear the chilly garb of winter Till we loose its lacy shawl.