There is curious magic in a springtime day
When the dawn over mountains paints all with pastel.
And dreams are new, and mornings fresh.
And all awakens then, and plays
In games, at summertime to tell.
And a songbird sings softly on the springtime wind
Of sweet days to follow old cold of long ago.
And though the years may intermesh,
An air of newness that blows in
Each spring allows my heart to tell
The passing of the seasons.
c. Spring 1994
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