Spring Morning
Now the moisty wood discloses
Wrinkled leaves of primroses,
While the birds they flute and sing:
"Build your nests, for here is spring!"
All about the open hills
Daisies show their pleasant frills,
Washed and white and newly spun
For a festival of sun.
Like a blossom from the sky,
Drops a yellow butterfly,
Dancing down the hedges grey
Snow-bestrewn till yesterday.
Squirrels skipping up the trees
Smell how spring is in the breeze,
While the birds, they flute and sing:
"Build your nests, for here is spring!"
-Anonymous
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