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Spring

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The mist of the morning, so light and fresh,
The birds are chirping, tweeting, loud and clear.
Dew on spider webs, like a net of mesh,
The smells of spring, butterflies by your ear.

Rabbits prancing around, grey is their fur,
See the flowers blooming in the low-lit garden.
Little lime and light green buds they once were,
Frost covers everything in white, nothing will it pardon.

The buzz of little black and yellow bees,
The shadows of trees, dark and depressing.
The sounds of spring, carried by the warm breeze,
The cool touch of mist, light and refreshing.

Spring is my favourite season of all time,
Any other: I wouldn’t spend a dime.





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