Poetic-Verses
springtime
Its after five on a damp wet morn,
The Blackbird sings his usual call;
The stillness hums, the dawn it breaks,
A greyness looms at Sundays wake.
The chill has left !its warming up too!
Snowdrops and daffodils have burst on through.
Spring time here! We shed some clothes!
As poets inspire verse and prose.
The gloom it lifts from those long dark nights,
Summers passion is our next delight,
How wondrous it feels to be alive!
When springtime calls on a fresh new tide.
The Blackbird sings his usual call;
The stillness hums, the dawn it breaks,
A greyness looms at Sundays wake.
The chill has left !its warming up too!
Snowdrops and daffodils have burst on through.
Spring time here! We shed some clothes!
As poets inspire verse and prose.
The gloom it lifts from those long dark nights,
Summers passion is our next delight,
How wondrous it feels to be alive!
When springtime calls on a fresh new tide.
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springtime
springtime