For the first time

Heralding a long-awaited approaching spring
Through newly budding bare branches and gray woods
Low growing violet early flowers defiant and pouting
Sat in purple repose

Velvet leaves veined hands soft emerald green
As wild saplings wild and unkempt battled the march come winds
The earth presented its gift of homage to the departing cold
And coming warmth
Fierce seasons for now torn between the south and north

For the second time from the mud the frogs rise

Croaking and throaty sing their bawdy songs to red enticing skies
Boasting of long days and scolding farmers
For the rich soil in stillness lie
Noted by the listening, long lived and inherently wise

The third time the frogs rose from the mud

In their coats of gaudy green displaying their vocal talents
Bold in their purpose made their presence known
Compositions from their ancestors and long sung
Greeting the chilled morning with musical notes for the day
They rise from warm mud and orange clay.


This was written for the folks in the Ozark mountains who know when the frogs come up and start singing spring is not far behind
All Rights Reserved @Tammy M. Darby, February 24, 2021.
All Material Stored in Author Base.