Maple flowers gild the road as will their emergent leaves long after their ruby maple keys turn to tan and twirl away.
The picnic table is on the knoll by the pine
And the chill North wind almost persuades me that spring is not yet here
But it fails— for cherry and apple blossoms persuade otherwise
So too the phlox at the lock.
Tulips tell their tale at nine Lock Load
As the robin tends quietly
Her unborn brood.
Our last spring together— Madam Robin and I. Please use side door
