It’s warm, not cold.
I’m not still old!
A childish rhyme
wakes me in time
to greet the sun:
sweet dreams have won!
First days of spring
fine memories bring
of friends on-isle:
our times beguile
me once again.
NOW becomes THEN
Bright wild birds call
beyond this wall
my years bequeath.
From underneath
covers I’ll rise,
fresh worlds surmise:
No sad print news
no wars to lose.
Just girls’ and boys’
(I cherish) noise
greet me, delight
escapes from night
Now, children, grown
(whose world they own)
since Spring’s begun
might one by one
shout and appear…
What hope! What cheer!!
