The ghost of spring wanders here,
aimless and anxious and waiting
to be reborn in small immaculate petals.
With tiny timid steps it traverses
winter’s indifferent graying skies
longing to repaint the world verdurous.
How lithely it will bend itself to the task,
its eager fingers caressing these hills,
birthing blues and greens and such blessings.
I watch, and everywhere I go here,
each trembling step I take into this winter,
I see you—the very image of spring!
For in you fecund hope finds a wondrous home.
In you is life and laughter without equal,
and a beauty that deftly reaches beyond time.
George Ellington 