The reeds have ceased their rattling sound
And tracks appear in softened ground;
The whistling of the peepers brings
The entrance of an early spring.
Now pushing up the meadow's edge
Are crocuses beneath the hedge;
A million buds are coming out,
Forsythia blooming all about.
A sense of kinship swiftly brings
A love for all these growing things,
And in doorway where I stand,
Enchanted by the greening land,
With all the riches of a king,
My heart cries out,
"It's spring, it's spring!"
...Ralph M. J. Worth
