On ice-free pond – birds slake their thirst
The North wind’s bite now just a nip
Where is Jack Frost’s wintry grip?
Bare branches still but here and there
Green shadows as new leaves appear
The woodland paths - a sodden mire
Are drying as the sun climbs higher.
Pale rays but warm, few clouds, blue skies
The birds have sensed the change; their cries
Are harbingers of this year’s spring;
Isn't Nature such a wondrous thing?
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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