The ancient Spring time path lays herself bare once again,
Dropping her heavy cloak, Gaia opens her palms,
Eager to be plowed and sewn in with seeds of sacred herbs and delicate blossoms,
The trees, fight to be released from Winter’s grip upon their heels;
They kick loose of it and let it go, like the northern birds, returning to their sunny homes.
The time that was frozen, now thaws with the blustering readiness of honey bees,
Anxious doves, call out between bud laden branches, as the Mockingbird, sits upon his roost,
Calling, ” Haven’t I been here upon the whole? Haven’t I been here through time?”