Days draw near
when the meadow’s laced with buttercups
and daisies nod their pretty heads
in rhythm with the wind.
May we never weary
in our delight of seasons: the changing skies;
the golden rays. O! blessèd
is The Painter’s hand
that makes the flowers bloom
and blessèd are Spring’s promises
that bear the hopes and birth the faith
of ordinary man.