When the trees flower pink and white
filigree, and the sleeping
god comes back to life
here, where our mountains preside
so drably much of the year
now, when the walls of our valleys
are so green, green, green on all sides,
and our eyes see easy
before Nature gets carried away
and squeezes out too much Fire
and it all burns dead again,
you want to pin it
down with your pen
so it will never slip away,
this elixir,
this secret,
for there's nothing
I could ever seek
beyond this Spring
spreading inside me,
flooding my veins forever.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poem-of-spring/
