I sit on the porch on this mild afternoon
with the birdsong floating on the breeze
through the slightly moist air, the sky adrift
with soft clouds. A yellow swallowtail
pirouettes through the branches of the spruce.
I have but one thought: This is Spring’s last day.
And look how softly she says farewell
as she drifts away, leaving a world of green
where none was when she came.
The woodlands bow their rustling leaves
to her as she passes by. Beyond the meadow,
strewn now with daisies, the creek sings.
I think this hymn is an anthem of thanks,
and of joy, and my heart joins in the song.