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Fickle Spring

A sunbeam dances on my drive,
Where snowflakes danced yesterday
Birds on the feeders so alive,
A harbinger of May.

Itís Aprilís way, though fickle March,
Had instigated change,
When pussy willow, budding larch,
Leaf out in ways so strange.

Like a teen, the pre-bloom bud,
Is half-adult, half-child,
Beauty, deceiving, obscured by mud,
Ushers in delicate flowers wild.

One day, itís like February,
The next, disguised as May;
Warm, blissful, fickle or contrary,
Letís bask in the realótoday.

@04/17/2020 Carol Welch
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