Paying homage to mother spring

Spring is by far my favorite season. I could go on and on about what I love about spring in paragraphs, in scribbles on pages and in abstract thoughts. 

However, paragraphs about spring would be a bore. All of my scribbles would be completely illegible and abstract thoughts are complicated and messy. 

Instead, to welcome the most beautiful season that has ever embraced Earth, here are a few short poems by yours truly:

Welcome the New

The earth turns to welcome the new,

the flowers bloom awaiting the boastful sun.

Hail Spring, the mother of new beginnings.

She is a gentle comfort that follows the harsh of winter.

The Cycle

Spring blossoms, the mother opens her eyes

And the oak follows suit.

Spring passes the torch and the oak ages,

Leaves swirl and the wind plays the flute.

Winter snatches the torch from autumn,

So cold its touch burns.

Yet soon enough winter must submit to spring

And so the Earth turns.

A New View

The world sings in vibrant colors

As creatures emerge from their dens to greet the new.

The rabbits cuddle with their children

In fields colored green, pink, purple and blue.

“What is happening?” cries the nesting,

As the world in color blooms.

“It is spring! It is spring!” answers the robin.

And over the fields they flew.

The Bouquet

Say hello to the daisies that waltz in the wind,

Greet the roses that accompany your path.

Follow the wind which swirls cherry blossoms around you,

Race the river which flows fast.

Even the blades of grass have beauty instilled,

Even the ground has a story to tell.

Let the call of Spring guide you

And the daffodils and lilies as well.

April Showers

I wake and the sky is dim,

Yet the clouds do not scare me.

As I turn on my lamp the light cascades across the room

And my desk beckons.

Shall I write? Shall I read? Shall I dream?

The rain breaks my thoughts.

Each drop races down my window,

It eggs the others on.

I think I shall enjoy the rain,

I think I shall make the most of each drop

Until the sun comes to dry the tears of the clouds

And I am left without a muse.

Hello Sun

Is there any season in which the Sun is properly displayed?

In summer, it beats down upon the world,

Its rays attack like double edged swords.

In fall, the Sun shies away in fear of the coming cold.

It lurks on the edge of the horizon, afraid of what’s to come.

In winter, the wind screeches and howls at the Sun

Though its light does not fade, its warmth does.

Warmth has left us…will it ever return?

Suddenly, the ice breaks

And warmth begins to embrace the earth. 

Sunlight is no longer a sword;

Warmth no longer grows distant.

It glides in and dances with the rest of nature.

Hello Sun, we meet again.