The Season Called Spring
Mother Nature picked her paintbrush up
and stenciled in some hues
soft yellows, purples, reds and pinks
and pastel powder blues.
She rose from a snowy slumber
it was now time to ignite
her color wheel to replace
a world still dressed in white.
Ushering in a tranquil breeze
commanding the sun to smile
casting out remains of winter chill
so in a little while
wild flowers would dot green rolling hills,
songbirds would return to sing
the prelude to sister, Summer,
is the magical season of spring.
liz10240
Copyright © Liz Labadie-Reilly | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment