Spring

The wind howls its last lonely song,
The rivers laugh,
The Spring has come.

The first golden trumpets rustle their tune,
On a low hill,
Daffodils bloom.

In a lush green forest the young doe treads,
Through a carpet of blue,
Bluebells her bed.

The little ones dance in fields of green,
They are joyful,
They are a team.

The elves watch this all with joy,
The little girl,
The little boy.

Young, fresh magic hangs in the air,
The creatures leave,
They know its there.

The flowers dance in the lonely breeze,
The rivers laugh,
And so do the trees.

So life carries the flow on,
Steadily singing,
Its bright, natural Song.