First Notes

Though winter is with us still
the birds have begun to sing,
to the cues of spring,
first a cardinal, then a wren
and now this morning in early March,
as a chill dawn pinks the sky,
the wistful fluting of a mourning dove
which, after winter’s longueurs,
when few but crows were heard,
now finds itself bestirred
to loose its song.

by Richard Greene

Comments (1)

Living in Michigan the changing seasons are my favorite thing! I really enjoyed this poem Richard. Very nice. Sincerely, Mary