Comes the Spring

I wait for spring . . .
to fold away
the threads of winter
in lavender scent

windows drawn wide
as early dawn spills in
through gossamer lace
floating on a breeze

the sweet promise of air
refreshing and clean
and filled with sounds
of chunky mottled birds

at play in a bed of leaves
fallen before first frost
and lying there still
. . . when will it come?

the silence of ferns
pushing through
Mother Earth
to feel the sun
says soon