Spring is God's way of saying hello.
First flowers of the winter's end
You shoot up—refuse to spend
Another moment underground
You have heard the merry sound
Of bluebirds singing overhead,
Felt winter rising from his bed,
You know the sun is shining bright
You strain upwards toward the light.
Poke your spikes of green up through
The waiting ground and cold snow too
You come up early to relay
That Spring is finally on his way.