Spring Song


It comes when you’re not looking—
An unexpected thing—
A something you’ve no name for
That makes you want to sing.
One moment you feel wintry,
Then you take a look,
And suddenly a crocus
Sprouts by a frozen brook.
A branch of pussy willow
Will reach to touch your cheek.
You hear a singing thrasher,
See violets shyly peek.
The season, like the catkins,
Is clinging to each bough.
You long to burst out singing,
And spring will show you how!

[illustration] Illustrated by Shauna Mooney