The Spring is creeping out of his front door
Barred for so long, but not any more
No longer the crocus cowers and kneels
As the freshened wind makes loops and cartwheels
The treetops brush shoulders, then sway apart
As blustery rains play the wind's counterpart
Better days beckon to the weary drover
And the long road through the Winter is over
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem