For the second time in March we have snow
Could someone please wake spring from her slumber
She should be here by now fighting the good fight, wiping clean the wintersmiths frosty drawings
Last year she had tucked him away
She had read him his bedtime story
Last year we had seventeen, this year we have merely two
How he must be laughing, running amok through the hills and the valleys
Turning everything white with a wave of his hand
But where is she? Even he must miss her so, even he must be longing to dance
Still it is not his place to question
He can only do what is in him to do
With a sigh he exhales a bitter northerly wind and coats the confused daffodil with a jacket of ice
Then off he goes dancing alone
Spinning wildy through the towns like a leaf in a web
Stopping only to place his hands on those foolish enough to leave flesh exposed
Maybe she has forsaken us
Maybe she has resigned her post
Like when the last ice age hit and she took a sabbatical
I hope she has just slept in
Or maybe she is just getting ready for the grandest of entries
Yes let us hope she is just sorting through her vast collection of colourful dresses
Because if she does not appear and dance the dance of seasons change
If she doesn't take the wintersmith by the hand and sing him softly to sleep
Then that giant golden skinned adonis of a man summer will not come!
Without her he will not appear
Without her beauty we will not feel the warmth of his love
Oh someone please wake spring from her slumber
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
For the second time in March we have snow
Could someone please wake spring from her slumber
She should be here by now fighting the good fight, wiping clean the wintersmiths frosty drawings
Last year she had tucked him away
She had read him his bedtime story
Last year we had seventeen, this year we have merely two
How he must be laughing, running amok through the hills and the valleys
Turning everything white with a wave of his hand
But where is she? Even he must miss her so, even he must be longing to dance
Still it is not his place to question
He can only do what is in him to do
With a sigh he exhales a bitter northerly wind and coats the confused daffodil with a jacket of ice
Then off he goes dancing alone
Spinning wildy through the towns like a leaf in a web
Stopping only to place his hands on those foolish enough to leave flesh exposed
Maybe she has forsaken us
Maybe she has resigned her post
Like when the last ice age hit and she took a sabbatical
I hope she has just slept in
Or maybe she is just getting ready for the grandest of entries
Yes let us hope she is just sorting through her vast collection of colourful dresses
Because if she does not appear and dance the dance of seasons change
If she doesn't take the wintersmith by the hand and sing him softly to sleep
Then that giant golden skinned adonis of a man summer will not come!
Without her he will not appear
Without her beauty we will not feel the warmth of his love
Oh someone please wake spring from her slumber
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