May Day – Sarah Teasdale / (1884-1933)

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple

Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?

An Ode To Spring

Where Lovers Begin – An Ode to Spring
Poem and photo by Gabrielle Price

He races the sun to kiss every inch of her,

Through leaves, eyelets of light adorn her skin.

The warm breeze caresses them; tickling,

Where all lovers begin.

Together in a field of soft, thick grass

sun warmed and the scent of earth;

Mingled only with the aroma of her delight,

The trees and sky, their home and hearth.

It is said that all lovers begin here,

Where each cloud is a kiss, each word; a bee,

Where soft moans signify the arrival,

Of the opening flower that hails the spring.