Spring is not vanishing nor dying,
Fresh grass reappears in the mossy ravine;
There will always be birds in the sky.

Clouds do not stop rolling by, defying
The burst of sunshine above the village green;
Spring is not vanishing nor dying.

Winter’s cold wounds are slowly drying
While butterflies hover over the flowery scene;
There will always be birds in the sky.

I write from within, without denying
The blossom’s opening routine;
Spring is not vanishing nor dying.

I hear my words quietly realigning
Under leaves and nature’s unseen screen;
There will always be birds in the sky.

On the verandah, the wide blue is replying
As today’s invisible freedom flows between.
Spring is not vanishing nor dying!
There will always be birds in the sky.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden