Soft white clouds are floating by.
A bird glides lazily past.
The sun so brightly fills your eye.
It must be Spring at last.
The crocus and the daffodil
So anxious to be blooming.
The grass is greening upon the hill
And trees, their buds are grooming.
A person is so like the spring
Impatient to be doing.
The winter doldrums seem to bring
New projects for pursuing.
The grass, the trees, what meets the eye
All begging for attention.
Plus nature walks and kites to fly
Too numerous to mention.
You sigh and get back to the grind
And push and pull the leaves
And try to push out of your mind
This feeling of Spring Fever.
©May Baker Winkel