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A Late Spring

A Late Spring

The winter has been casting such a chill upon the heart
It seemed as if the long-awaited spring would never start:

And then, today, the cheerful blackbird raised his glossy head,
To sing his joyful song, before the sun was out of bed:

The Weeping Willows first unveiled their graceful golden fronds,
Their slender fingers dipping into rivers, lakes and ponds

The daffodils, a shining sea of sunlight all around,
Are nodding in a jaunty crowd upon the waking ground.

Yellow catkins tremble in the early springtime breeze,
While furry silver paws tiptoe on pussy-willow trees.

The modest Hawthorn, shy because her bare twigs could be seen,
Has veiled them with a jewelled fairy-gauze of tender green.

Old friends find time - at last - to stand and gossip at their gate:
`It's warm today.' - `oh yes - but my, this year the spring IS late!'

The whole earth smiles with joyous heart in warm and lengthening days,
And creatures great and small sing forth their Grand Creator's praise.

Poetry by Marie Cadavieco