When April’s rains make ground a bog,

some wet enough to float a log,

the peeking flowers give us hope,

we search the sky for sun, but, nope,

the clouds still need a bit more time;

from winter up to spring’s a climb.

The branches waving in the breeze

are summoning the leaves to trees.

Each day we wait for color’s bloom

to wash away grey season’s gloom.

We know one morning after dark

we’ll see the buds amongst the bark.

Soon trees will wear their fine green skirts,

and even some Hawaiian shirts.