Wednesday, March 16, 2016


Grim winter chilled the spirit, fog has bound the mind,
till Spring with his swift fingers  loose the bonds that bind,
and Cupid, shooting love-shafts,  couples  kind to kind,
--thén will I mend, thén will I wend, thén will I

Springtime creams to summer,  the sap is in the trees,
so golden as the honey  of the dreaming bees,
all lost within the buzzing  of the brimming breeze,
--when summer's sped, then would I wed, be wedded

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