Spring Song

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    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