Thomas S. Jones Jr.

The Last Spring

The first glad token of the Spring is here
   That bears each time one miracle the more,
   For in the sunlight is the golden ore,
The joyous promise of a waking year;
And in that promise all clouds disappear
   And youth itself comes back as once before,
   For only dreams are real in April's store
When buds are bursting and the skies are clear.

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