Smallest Season

The trees are just beginning
To set out their new leaves.
They burst forth oh, so gently,
In pale and soft green sheaves.

All across the treetops
The infant leaves are sprayed,
Like foam lightly tossed upon
A gentle ocean wave.

The birds begin to settle
Into their new-built nests.
It is this mellow time of year
That I love the best.

It isn’t quite the Spring’s,
Nor is it Winter’s claim -
This sweet and tranquil season
That has no widespread fame.

Many people pass it by
And never know it’s there,
For it only lasts the shortest while,
As fleeting as the air.

by Sophia White

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