A song to Spring, you lost wanderer.

 In March the wild-rose twigs blazed scarlet above the snow,

And new gold curls dressed the willow tree’s tips, dancing in frigid air.

Warblers and geese returned,

And at night under crisp stars, a squishy chorus of tiny frogs rose from the thawing bog. 

All proclaimed: Winter’s back is broken!

 And we took heart, believed. And waited. 

 Still.