I wander down the quiet paths,
With happy thoughts of Spring.
And peek into each dusky nook,
Where tiny flowers cling.
In this season jack in the pulpit
Dons his frock of brown and green.
And tells his band of wood folk,
How to live a life serene.
The clear white petals of bloodroot,
Shine from it’s greenland bower.
Clever people used to make perfume,
From the roots of this perfect flower.
And the violet, shy and retiring,
Lifts it’s dainty head.
On the banks of every sparkling pool,
In a lovely scented bed.
The frail white petals of anemone,
Do their best to catch my eye.
Since they’re dressed so modestly,
One could easily pass them by.
And hepatica, with it’s new Spring dress
In lavender’s delicate hue.
Displays with understandable pride,
The work Mother Nature can do.
And the wonder of the great outdoors,
Brings peace and calm and rest.
And we who are close to the quiet woods,
Are surely greatly blest.
Leave a Reply