Shiny satin bodies sway softly hugging with glee bending and turning in the winds gentle sea.
A watercolor Monet meadow now swirls,
casting rainbows of splendor in mystical swirls.
One by one the trumpeteer heralds their birth.
And the bumble's and the bird's flutter their girth.
The sounds of hope's song drifts up in the air a soft song of love, the deep voice of care.
Spring breaths life back into the once barren lea aromas so sweet of lavender, lily and sweet pea.
Families made of fur or of feather scurry and hurry in the glow of this weather.
Even tiny creature that slither or flitter get lost in the revelry of soothing chitter lost amidst golden-rod sun and silver moon glitter.
Day or night they emerge for their task and endulge like drinking sweet wine in a cask.
Basking by sun or bathing by stars they glow like fireflies inside mason jars.
They withstand the daunting test of time battling against man's greed, grime and crime.
Fragile, they take only what is needed to live while humans never think or even dare give.
Their fragile existence a mere second glance leaving them all in the dark hands of chance.
Open your heart and your mind every day.
It does not need to be April or May.
Nature is fierce but nature is fair.
She blesses those who acknowldges her stare.
Take what you must and share what you don't need so others may survive and sprout from the seed.
The pod travels in the wind miles to find rest,
facing the elements of life's cruelest test.
It travels far to a parched haggard chest and sprouts from your heart a crimsony vest.