SPRING - a poem

SPRING

A head pokes above ground.

Sniffing in trepidation, it asks:

Is SHE here yet?

The mist that dared to linger

In memory of night's chill,

Has been chased off by the sun.

In their new green vestments

Once naked trees, now stand proud

In preparation to greet HER.

The drone of earnest bees

Signals the harvesting of nectar

And a bounty of honey to come.

Anticipating her arrival

Birds squabble with excitement.

Why is SHE not here yet?

Flowers carpet the field

Spread for her arrival

Even though SHE's late.

At last, SHE makes her appearance.

The landscape at last heralds spring

With her perennial promise of hope.