Each Spring

When ducks print signs in the mud for the farmer to read,
And a thawing roof yields smoke in the sun at noon,
And a map of the earth’s position shows through the snow,
The news becomes music to me like a newly made tune.

When the drying fields are ready for man to plow,
When pups tumble out of the barn like squirrels from a tree,
And a schoolgirl under her breath hums the sadness of love,
And plum blossoms shatter, like sap there rises in me

The excitement that comes with the promise of green-leaved earth,
With another day to wonder at heart-shaped flowers,
With another day to marvel how we are free
From the rules of winter— the season of hope is ours.