Just a short distance from where I reside,
there's a park where a lovely creek flows.
It's frozen now, nowhere to be seen,
buried deeper each time that it snows.
But I know it's there, so brimming with fish;
I am called by my friends, "Fishing King".
My tackle and pole still sit in the dark,
waiting for the best season called spring.
The flowers and leaves wait to appear,
Mother Nature will, with her first blush,
blow her sweet breath to warm up the land,
as she paints with her colorful brush.
Soon, flowers burst forth with colors so bright,
the trees dress in their gowns of green.
The water and sky sport lovely blue shades;
birds return with their songs so serene.
Even the scary bugs that I fear,
won't dampen my favorite season.
Where blissfully in the meadows I'll lie,
won't need a particular reason.
The sun bright above, will light up our day,
the moon's rays, our lantern at night.
Perfectly, God, long ago planned it out,
now in our home, this earth, we delight.
My fervor for spring will never abate,
as outside the snowflakes keep falling.
I know that spring's not too far behind,
is that a sweet robin that's calling?
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