"Spring"

They say spring comes but once a year,
and I say,
let's thank God for that.
I'd rather see old winter's wind
blow tattered hats off old men's heads,
than hear tired poems recited,
how spring unfolds tender blooms of love
writ by school boys too young, too soon.

And spring comes slowly to New England,
lest we forget the wood's wet
and the ground's cold 'til June;
Warm weather's a rumor of memory
so if March sends a fair wind or two,
please keep in mind
warm breezes come too early
may make an April fool of you.