Springtime is maiden fair,
With fair eyed grace and flaxen hair.
She comes upon the wintry monks,
Packing up their musty trunks.
She bids them fly, she wants to cry,
When she looks upon the wintry sky.
She raises up a tapestry fair,
The land has sun, and cool clear air.
Her laughter floods the forest's scene,
The woodlands wear a robe of green.
The meadows burst ablaze with blooms,
Dispelling the winter's hazy glooms.
Every flower, vine, fern and leaf,
Vibrate with a new relief.
The birds are flying here and there,
Building a nest in Springtime's hair.
Her arms caress the soft, new fields,
Meadows produce their fledgling yields.
Small raccoons, baby hares,
Wobbling foals and childlike bears.
The spider weaves her web of silk,
And little calves seek mothers milk.
Springtime takes her dress's hem,
And with a tiny flick fills the sky with gems.
Sparkling throughout the inky night,
Are comets speeding in their flight.
A soft wind blows, soothing soft,
To newborn kittens in the loft.
A toad appears, and then rejoices,
The pond is filled with a throng of voices.
A thousand creatures, where the lie,
Lift their praise to God on High.
A new found birth fills the land,
When God touches earth through Springtime's hand.
She lays herself down, in the leaves,
Her bed is satin flower wreaths.
When she emerges, from this slumber,
She will be the Lady Summer.