About upon a receding winters morn

the smell of piled burning leaves drift along many a lane

sounds of greeting voices in the air are born

and hopes and spirits that rise do so but not in vain

youthful spring prepares his tale for telling

surely will he with his verdurous gifts be welcomed and befriended

each from mother natures store are free ne'er made for selling

if only man the same could donate the endless peace we need

so much to be forever lended