The Infant of Spring

The springtime is like a new birth
held in the loving arms of Earth,
with rosebuds for her pouting lips;
pink flowered boughs, her fingertips;
bluebells her eyes so bright and clear
and daffodils, her golden hair.
Her laughter is the song birds sing.
Her joy, when those same birds take wing
and all the kids who laugh and play
seem to wish her ‘Happy Birthday’.