The complicated life is gone:
The winter’s nightmare fling.
Now is heard, above it all,
The gentle voice of spring.
The tyrant has been kow-towed to
Long enough as king–
Rebellion is upon him now:
I hear the voice of spring.
When desperation nears the end,
The flippant blue-bird’s wing
Beats upon the living air
The azure song of spring.
Reluctant to leave other sleeps,
I like awakening
To that persuasive just-heard sound:
The cloud-born voice of spring.
by Ray Romine Monday, September 17, 1951
