Alight, sweet Spring and warm the stone cold fields,
Touch these barren limbs with your sable brush,
Set free the butterflies that winter sealed
in dark cocoons that wait your fevered blush.
Send greening vines to sweep up to the door
like guests kept waiting too long in the cold
of tides that ebbed while waiting for the shore,
direction bent and faith fast growing old.
Turn loose a lemon moon to light the sky
in brotherhood with the constellations.
Don’t timid come nor make your presence shy
but boldly paint the canvas of creation.
Once ice-bound voices sing their song again,
now tendered with the gentle touch of Spring.