Hollyhock’s are chiming, “our buds are starting to form.”
Gazelle’s in the dell are prancing as springtime now
is felt; the meadow Aberdeen in serene green.
The bird’s in the trees are chiming,
“Mother is at her best pray-tell;”
She is surely blessed and swell.
Away up high a hawk soars by…
in a brushed cream, azure sky!
He’s aware but shows no care
that thus fortnight’s
are Easter’s invite.