For Real Toads: a poem for Spring

It is nowhere near Spring in southeastern Alberta, or in any other part of Alberta, I'm sure, but Kerry of the writers' group Imaginary Garden with Real Toads has suggested we might want to submit a poem about Spring.
It seems to me I've only ever written one poem on the subject of Spring. It is old, and small (44 words) and even though I'm sure I've used it in my blog before, most likely for Open Link Monday, I'll post it here again to see if it inspires me to write a new one.






Rock Poem


poets speak
of birds,
and trees,
and flowers
when Spring comes.
not I—
I love
a rock
new warmed
by mountain sun,
that in
the night
becomes a
lonely, lost
and windswept cliff
and then,
at dawn,
the place
where young
Tomorrow is born.

© Kay L. Davies

Can I write another one while I watch the snow melt, the sun set and the dog sleep in early March all these years after I wrote this one?

*

We were in Paris last Spring. I've written about that before, too, definitely for Real Toads. It was at the end of February, much much more recently than the rock poem, and my labels said usefully searchable things like springtime in Paris. There's something wrong with the Search feature on my blog archives, that's for sure.

*

New Poem for Spring

*

When Spring comes to our house,

we'll likely be home, 

it doesn't arrive here 'til May,

but then, when it does,

the air is a-buzz

as everyone plants in one day.

The ground is unfrozen

and so are our toes 'n

we're happy to be out of doors.

The dog's underfoot

and the air's full of soot

from folks who barbecue early.

Now if we could teach Lindy

to dig holes for trees, not for fun,

our Spring would be happy

and not full of traps she

has burrowed behind us, then run.

*

© ? Why?

(Uh-oh, nope, this isn't going to work at all.  I'll get back to Real Toads with a Spring poem sometime around May 24.)

K