Come, Spring! Steal me from Winter"s cold embrace.
I crave your warm caress upon my face,
my frozen lips and frost-nipped cheeks and chin,
your soothing touch on wind-assaulted skin.

I yearn to sink hard heels in softened ground,
see blades of sprouting grass and jonquil shoots
arch spindly necks above snow-crusted mounds,
spy peeping crocuses near shallow roots

and peel away brown leaves now decomposed
revealing infant worms unearthed, exposed.
I'll gladly rake the twigs and winter thatch,
dig dandelions up, crabgrass dispatch.

I won't mind cleaning out a gutter's crud,
the grit embedded in the old shed's floors
or sweeping any surface caked with mud.
If Spring will quickly come, I'll love such chores.