There are crocuses on Leaman Street,
And the trees are full of birds,

Little birds,

Dozens of them singing

Their little bird hearts out.

White crocus,

Slender white points,

Not yet in bloom.

On the other side

Of a picket fence.

And there are three seagulls,

Soaring over the houses,

Screeching loud enough

To beat the band.

Earlier today,

There were four

Snow squalls

That obscured the harbour

And hid the grass.

But my afternoon walk

Was in clear sun,

Under cloudless sky,

And I didn’t really need

A hat

Or gloves,

Though I wore both.

So Spring is more

Than an idea,


A date

On the calendar.

Spring is starting to awaken.