We wait together, having made it through
the white-hoar frostiness that came before,
This canopy, red-budded, foretells true,
The promise of our lusty woods restored.
On blue-chilled stillness, year on year, we’re sure
that seasons come and go and will again,
As sons of sons will picnic on this shore,
We’ve seen it oft, we sentries of this glen.
The forest that we love, just ’round the bend,
Still leads adventurous hearts to mirrored scene,
No insect pests yet in our boggy fen,
As still-chilled air wafts gentle and serene.
Off-season holds delights for opened eyes,
Who thrive in Spring’s pre-seasonal surprise.