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Poetry: Spring

Spring

When is winter done
I so long to see the sun
Oh dreary dark gray
When will you go away

Where in God's heaven
Is release from winter unpleasant
Must there be sound reason
To have a pleasing season

How long must we wait
In this cruel winter fate
To see one flower bloom
To have sunlight in every room

What will it take
To a new season make
Long hours in the day
Till spring comes our way

Why does winter drag
Like an aging withering hag
Let spring come to appear
Renewal of the earth is deer

At last spring has sprung
All things again young
Over the land is a golden hue
Every morning in a misty dew

Ah spring a fresh embrace
For a wrinkled winter face
Now I awake in feverish haste
To partake in your scintillating taste

Spring is the season for me
To undo the clutches of winter
To again set my soul soaring free
To crack the gray with sunlit glint-er

To see the flowers grow
Once again the rivers flow
The birds singing praise
All things in upward raise

Now that spring is here
The feeling of God is near
In my humbling way
Homage to he I pay

Learn more about this author, Chuck Maddock.
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Below are the top articles rated and ranked by Helium members on:

Poetry: Spring

  • 1 of 200

    by natureserenity

    Did I miss the arrival of spring?
    Bees are out to pollinate
    Am I too late?

    But wait, Ive been here all along
    Was I not observant

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  • 2 of 200

    by Chuck Maddock

    Spring

    When is winter done
    I so long to see the sun
    Oh dreary dark gray
    When will you go away

    Where in God's heaven
    Is release

    read more

  • 3 of 200

    by Morton Templeton

    The Colors of Spring

    Like a newborns lullaby
    rainbow sunbeams caress the landscape
    giving a soft flush of color
    to a stark and

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  • 4 of 200

    by Margaretha P. Wiebe

    She came softly,
    My friend Spring.
    She saw me, cold and alone.
    She could not stand to see me cry.

    One bright morning
    I woke to

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  • 5 of 200

    by Darkwing

    Turn of the Wheel, begin again with the season of rebirth,
    Bulbs and corms push up their shoots from underneath the earth
    In

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Poetry: Spring

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