The peach trees are screaming, "See, here she comes!"
Backed up by a choir of voluptuous plums.
Flaunting their fullness, they lustily sing,
"Get out your gladrags, let's party, it's Spring!"
The bees growl like diesels, immersed in soft toil,
Sucking at nectar as if drilling for oil.
They pocket the pollen, thus adorning their flanks.
Promiscuous pollination provides ample thanks.
The green woodpecker deftly drums his domain
Then yaffles like crazy with glorious disdain.
At the wind's wild insistence to seize the day,
Swifts whistle with glee as they slice the airy way.
Nature is quick with the vital vibration
Of Earth's upright axis of daily rotation
At ninety degrees to its orbital plane.
Equinoctial astronomy's not so hard to explain.
But the feelings which flow, the intentions we bring
Are the deep inexpressible mystery of Spring.
As the sweet leaves of grass sprout forth from the earth,
In our suffering hearts we experience rebirth.
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