A Poem for Thursday

I’m a little off my days this week. I enjoyed this one from the Grandma Malmberg scrapbooks this morning along with a forcast high of 86 (?!) today.

What is Spring?
Aileen Fisher

What is spring?
When you hear the first robin sing?
Or see the first crocuses spring
out of the cold ground
with islands (and continents) of snow
still around?

When you hear
the funny loud joke
of a frog’s croak?

When maple leaves are fuzzy
and mosquitoes buzzy?

I don’t think there is a date
soon or late
when winter is through
and spring is new.
But I always know, don’t you?
I know when winter
has begun to depart
and spring start
by the music box that tinkles
in my heart.

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