Spring Magic. Poem by dave lessard

Cotton, floating on the breeze,
falling, gently in the air;
'neath a canopy of trees,
in skies so blue and bare.
No clouds to hide the view,
just some contrails passing by;
a morning, fresh and new,
with scenes that make one sigh.
Like snowflakes sown in May,
they flutter to the ground;
the leaves in splendor sway,
there is no other sound.
The spores are soft and white,
they're dancing in the wind;
it's a magic spring-time sight,
around each pathway's bend.
Walks like these, are treasure,
to the mind and to the soul;
they're ones we cannot measure,
but they're ones that make us whole.