The soft sigh of spring still lingers,
in petals swinging through the air,
in rain that taps with gentle fingers,
on fields just learning how to care.
the whisper grows warmer, louder,
the river’s voice is quick with song,
green hills stretch wider, prouder,
and shadows do not last as long.
The shy bluebells bow to golden daisies,
the tender chill is burned away,
the sky, once brushed in misty hazes,
now stands a beaming, bluer way.
Barefoot days walk close around,
the world a quilt of heat and bloom,
where every breath and breeze has found
tangled in the sun’s perfume.
And so, spring sighs her final kisses,
and summer strides in open eyed,
with all the fire the earth still misses
the two of them, a single tide.
