Ah, comes the spring
When birds are nesting,
And father’s done
With winter resting.
He’ll wrestle awnings,
No holds barred;
He’ll hang the screens,
Clean up the yard,
And paint the porch,
And trim the trees,
And wish with every
Balmy breeze
Himself unmarried,
Free to sit–
And never mean
A word of it!
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 14, 1950
