There may not yet be flowers to pick,
But forsythia will soon be budding on the juicy stem,
Maples will drip their honey for us to taste,
Whatever brooks we ford will voice their babbling,
And we will know the smell of Earth is good.
We will not feel threatened if it rains,
Water running swiftly
Downhill to chase the ruins of winter.
The desire for spring is justly strong….
When it comes, we’ll see it as never before—
As if the Earth were young.
Soon forgotten fades the snow
As field turns fresh again….
Deer run freely on last fall’s leaves as
You walk close beside along the path.
We will sing green songs of spring and
You will know you are my love.