In the Springtime

George Weslow


Free is the wind
as it whistles through the trees,
whispering its lonliness
carried on the breeze.

Pine needles float down
landing soft as a pillow,
and poetically in motion
sways the sad old willow.

Bowed as if weeping
for a long lost friend,
a memory worth keeping
'til they're together again.

A soul-stirring moaning
eerie, but oh so fine,
is spread o'er the forest
by the whispering pines.

The bayonet grass
along the marshy shore,
dances exotically
o'er its moistened floor.

A frog is sun bathing
on a green lily pad,
and the pond in a blanket
is golden-clad.

The tall oak trees
extend to the sky,
and momentarily vanish
as a cloud passes by.

Hundreds of flowers
all colors of the rainbow,
appear in the meadows
and there in beauty glow.

Painting the woodland
as a storybook might be,
the wonders of nature
and all her mastery.

You'd think this all a dream
or a fantasy of your mind,
but it's really wonderful Wisconsin
in the Springtime.


Published @ COVE

April 2022