The first blades of grass escaped
weeks ago from winter�s imposed prison.
Now, flowers with bonneted heads
gather in groups,
and line in rows...
Waiting to be plucked
by a child's hand
and given as a gift to a parent...
The greatest honor for a flower.

The bravest of leaves carefully unfold,
eager to bask in the yet cool air...
The meeker ones shall inherit
the warmth of later days.
She has begun to reclaim
what is rightfully hers,
with silent explosions of color,
on the shrinking battlefield
of winter�s last encounter.

Spring!



Copywrite 1999
Janet Nix

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