The equinox has come and gone, yet winter won’t give way,
A cranky child resisting sleep, demanding to delay
He hurls one final tantrum—snowflakes swirling, cold and swift—
And buries sprouting daffodils beneath a vengeful drift.
Their yellow crowns bow low and wait, unwavering, unbroke,
Patient in their silent state beneath the icy cloak.

Sunlight hums a warmer tune and strokes the stubborn ground,
While birds take flight with songs so bright, they stir the world around.
They call the crocuses to rise in robes of regal hue,
And whisper to the waking trees to don their cloaks anew.
With melodies that coax the buds from branches bare and shy,
They urge the sap to rise again, and reach toward the sky.

Their chorus grows—forsythia flame like fire on every limb,
The birds invite the bashful frogs to join with vernal hymn.
Peepers trill in shy response, their voices small but clear,
While woodpeckers keep rhythm as their tapping draws us near.
Each note a gentle summons, each song a spark, a sign:
A call to bloom, to leap, to drum—to enter spring’s time.

Unlike the wistful end of fall, I greet this turning page—
Rejoicing as the cold departs, retreating from the stage.
No sorrow for what’s left behind, no mourning frozen days,
But gratitude for melting dark and light's returning blaze.
With open palms and lifted face, I welcome what’s in store—
The barren past now blossoming,
glad to be cold no more.

Originally written: 4/12 - 4/23/2025