A free-verse poem about the joys of spring.

Spring exploded a few weeks back.
This day I stand on my back porch,
admiring the fresh greenness and
all the colorful blossoms competing
for attention in the back yard.
I hear the birds’ songs and the buzz
of the bumblebees lumbering along.

The drab barrenness of winter has been
routed by the vibrant colors of spring –
the whites, reds, pinks, yellows, blues.
New growth, new life is all around.
The grass looks like a luxurious,
thick carpet of newborn green.
The day is warm – upper 70s under
a cloudless, bright blue sky.
I soak in the sights, the smells of spring!

I think of how the ancients celebrated
the arrival of spring with dancing
barefooted in the new grass, wearing
crowns of splendor woven from fresh
flowers, with gay music and revelry.
They knew well the wonders of harsh
winter giving way to gentle spring;
they knew how to celebrate appropriately.

My wife comes out to stand beside me.
I look at her. I look at the inviting yard.
With a wide smile, I say, “Take off your
shoes. Let’s feel the grass under our feet,
as we enjoy the wonder of this spring day.”
Spring makes children of old men.