My old friend Spring is in the air
dancing on the woodland breeze
with the scent of flowers fair
greening buds on all the trees.

He's a friend who's never strayed,
no other breeze could say the same.
He's a friend who's not afraid
to touch my face and speak my name.

He shares his secrets in a song
as he whispers through the leaves.
He says I'm here where I belong
where river through green forest weaves.

"Forsake the ways of strife and throng,
stay here with me by my blue stream."
His spell is sweet, his magic strong;
my other life is but a dream.

I know his song is just a gust,
it blows this way and then the next.
Yet still I crave the wanderlust
with which it fills my yearning breast.

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allets's picture


U never fail to amaze - there's okay, there's good, there's great, and then there is the artisty of this poem about your friend, Spring. Bravo and oh yeah. Time for some wanderlusting :D ~slc~