Spring Poems

With winter's footprints in the past,
and snows begin to melt at last.

With longer days and shorter nights,
the wayward winds of March take flight.

Four winds she holds within her grip,
then hurls them from her fingertip.

Her woolly, fleecy clouds of white,
she sets in skies of blue delight.

Her wild bouts of gusty breezes
roar through valleys, hills, and trees.

That high pitch whistling song she sings
awakens earth and flowering things.

She tears a hole in heaven's sky
so sun can shine and rain can cry.

She gently calms as spring draws near,
as blooming daffodils appear.

She welcomes April showers in,
then gathers up her dwindling winds.
Now her long journey home begins,

knowing she'll be back this way,
upon a cold, late winter's day,

when nights grow short
and days grow long.

Listen for her whistling song!

The grass is green across the hill,
But yellow blooms the daffodil.
It's sunshine on a little stalk,
A friendly flower, I bet they talk...

Of little kids, too long inside
They burst outdoors to play and hide.
Tracking mud and bringing bugs.
Look, there's footprints on the rug!

Tiny whirlwinds, these little tykes,
They skin their knees while riding bikes.
They rip and roar, they're running wild!
What fun it is to be a child.

It grows warmer every day.
Shoo the children out to play!
Pick the flowers, play in mud.
Too much rain, here comes a flood!

My snowy, winter days are gone.
I mourn them, but I hear a song
Of birds in trees; wind chimes ring.
I guess it might as well be spring!

One of four siblings,
the youngest of course.
Or am I the oldest?
Not really sure.

I bring new life
and herald the warmth,
but hay fever, too,
is in my source.

Autumn has color
but tinged with decay.
Some call her Fall.
I think she's OK.

Not like my bother,
cold in his breath.
Winter his name,
in darkness brings death.

Summer's the one
that gets all the glory,
but brush fires and sunburn
are in her story.

So, season of choice,
who will win?
The one with potential,
of course; it's Spring.

Mellow, mild, May day,
calling children out to play.
Summer's on her way!

Butterflies in trees,
brilliant sunsets, starry eves.
Time for ice cream, please!

When the cold, harsh winter has given its last breath,
When the sky above shows life instead of death,
When the claws reaching to the frozen sky become decorated with leaves,
When the animals -long in hiding- scurry from trees,
We know winter has ended.

When the frost on grass is replaced with sweet dew,
When the fields become dotted with flowers, reminding me of you,
When the lonely silence becomes filled with melodies,
When you feel warm air, erasing bad memories
We know winter has ended.

When the hard, bare ground becomes painted with green,
When the frost-bitten air becomes fresh and clean,
When the coats and boots are all stored away,
When the playgrounds become occupied again with child's play,
We know winter has ended.

When you hear the pleasant sound of children's laughter,
When the air is filled with joy- long sought after,
When the world is filled with sunlight, brighter and longer,
When the song of Mother Nature becomes stronger,
Spring has begun.

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers

Beautiful fresh purple flowers on a hill
Slowly moving water mill
Clumps of wet frost on the ground
Life is all around
Soft grasses pop out
Flowers sprout
Chirping birds in the woods
Weather is good
Melting mountain has begun
Frosty snow quickly runs
Bright, shiny sky is clear
Sweet, fresh, crispy smell fills the air

Winter fights to stay.
Sweet Spring always wins her way.
Flowers bloomed today!

Spring has final say,
Sending Winter on his way.
Her true love is May!

Spring's June wedding day.
White lily and rose bouquet.
Bells ring out today!

Melancholy moods,
shiny jazz and rainy blues.
April sings her tunes!

Rainbows in her skies,
diamond tears within her eyes,
stormy spring surprise!

There is nothing that can quite compare
To the fragrance of the fresh spring air,
Floating on the softest breeze,
Stirring the world from its frozen sleep.

The merry, twittering early birds
Now usher in the dawn,
Filling the quiescent silence
With a panoply of song.

The sun's an early riser.
Her brilliance cannot be ignored.
She demands complete attention
From the still, lethargic world.

The naked, drooping sullen trees
And the brown and barren earth
Begin to show those subtle signs
Of their glorious rebirth.

The greenest green of grassy lawns
Begin to sprout and grow,
Creating deep plush emerald quilts,
Replacing mounds of crystalline snow.

Neatly tended flower beds
Filled with splashy, bursting buds
Lift their heads as they proudly swoon
Beneath the dazzling sun.

The deeply limpid azure sky
Can fill with clouds of gray,
And the smiling sun may suddenly cry,
Revealing the moods of a lush spring day.

Skeletal trees once standing exposed,
Now bedecked in verdant leaves,
Dance proudly and unabashedly
In the hushed and warm spring breeze.

The deadly winter quiet
And that sense of desolation
Is now broken by the sounds of life
And the world's excited jubilation.

Spring has sprung and hope renewed
As people open up their doors.
Those gloomy days and that frigid air
Won't stop them anymore.

Every season has its beauty.
Nature's glory cannot be denied.
But strolling through a blossoming park
Is much better than slumbering inside.

The spring was a ghost, as winter wither'd away.
The bird's song was vapid, the flowers awaited May.
Alone we all sat, windows locked and shutter'd,
afraid of our neighbours, our bread went unbutter'd.

All shopkeepers were closed, all kegs were untapped,
all music did cease, all performance unclapped.
Alone we all sat, doors closed and locked.
Our pantry's slowly dwindling, inadequately stocked.

All games were ended, all our works were halted.
All prayers were whispered, all hopes were exalted.
Alone we all sat, as the world slowly warmed,
the trees unpruned, ragged and deformed.

The gardens untilled, the boats tied to dock.
The productive were idle, the busy as rock.
Alone we all sat, avoiding the ravage
of an invisible foe, so vile and savage.

The streets were all empty, the pews were all bare.
The neighbours were treated only with what we could spare.
Alone we all sat, fearful and forlorn,
Locked in our homes, to weather this storm.

As the sun warms the airs, and the rains wet its feet,
The Oak reaches upwards as if heaven to meet.
Alone we all sat, uncertain and torn,
Our Solace unveiled by its wee acorn.

The pitter patter
Sound of the heavenly rain
Raises novel hope