Springtime

Not a prequel to the Gershwin classic,

More of a beginning all on its own.

The buds, the blossom, the early colors of life,

The blooming adventures of seeds long since sown.

The early dawning sunlight scorches through the curtains,

Air warmly moist, scented by freshly cut grass.

The greens of all shades are lush, thick, shiny, rich,

Early morning joggers are boosted by this divine blessed blast.

We marched out of March and all the madness that came with it,

And summertime is almost here, just out of view.

But the joy of April is all around, fooling us once more,

As lost in its stupendous splendor, I forgot, the taxes are due.