Spring is the dearth of icy snow;
the time when all the flowers grow.
Spring is the warmth of sunlit days
and no more scenes of slushy grays.
Spring is branches all budding quick;
absent the sight of snowy stick.
Spring is the green grass on the ground;
no more the snow lays all around.
Spring is the cloud-filled azure skies;
no more gray clouds to blear our eyes.
Spring is the robin, bright and gay;
the blue jays all have gone away.
Spring is the cleaning we must do
after winter's done and through!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem