Clean, in a way,
as the snow it clears,
the dirt it once more has its say,
and underneath what lays,
shoots of growth anew,
magnificent and beautiful,
coming through,
rising from out of the cold into the warmer air,
in the spring,
as a river runs by and the leaves on the trees,
they grow and blow lightly in the breeze,
and the deer’s they walk serenely through the trees,
in their magnificence and in their beauty,
as the sky so blue, envelopes the eyes,
and the clouds they dance so beautifully on high,
above the flowers coming through.
