Sonnet 3, A Little Bird In A Tree...
A little bird in a tree is songless,
Because returning spring is coming late
And the little songster can hardly wait,
For the growth and blooming of new and fresh.
The earth's now sleeping in winter's cold flesh
For it is as sharp as a razor’s plate,
In temperature and to regenerate
With colourful pigments of summer dress.
But things must arrive as others shall go
And the winter is fading day by day,
To returning seasons of death and lives.
The blossoms of summer again shall glow,
For spring shall be all here again in May,
And the songster sings, as it once more strives.