The gentle rains of Spring Come to wash away December's somber brown and gray. My heart, my life Quicken at the tug of the Wind, Pulling, teasing my soul, Reminding me the world Is about to be reborn All blue and green and gay. Jonquils are pushing Through the crust of sleep That has imprisoned them so long, And soon birds will sing again In budding dogwood trees. The wind burns my eyes, Tearing away the film of wintry despair, And lets me see again How beautiful the earth can be. And as my life is washed clean, I see once more Love before me, Soft and warm, fragile And delicate, yet growing stronger In the springtime sun.
Probably Spring 1972
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