Its ever this time of year
My senses seem to feel
“Neath the soil’s white quilt
Bulbs and perennials, and
Small woodland critters-
All curled up, warm- breathing
Winter- sleeping with the tulips.
When its wake-up time
There’ll be no need of summons,
Only the slow melting quilt,
And warming topsoil and air
My joyful senses will then see-
The bulbs’ green intelligence, and
Furry things that cavort and squeak.
-p
Leonard N. Shapiro 3/15/22
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