Sing of Spring's night
And whisper softly wonders
Of Winter's clinging bite
Lost, circling water towers


far beyond thin-clad trees
And away still hills
With strength to tease
Yet gently crying to fulfill


One last, silent fling
Down forgotten paths to seize
A twist of tree swing
Dying in gently-swaying breeze


Far beyond a horizon seen
Buds of the willow sprout
Where the grass is green
And the dandelions are out

© By Stuart James Knickerbocker (Ksnicker@aol.com)