Spring

There are not many things that I love more than waking up to the sonnets and symphonies of birds on a Spring morning.  Spring reminds us of life and rebirth after a (usually) cold, dark winter.  It is my favorite season.  If Spring were a poem, it would resemble something like this:

 

A Light exists in Spring

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period-
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay-

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.




Poem--compliments of Emily Dickinson.