It often happens April will not bring <br />The kind of end to Winter we call Spring. <br />We look for buds to burst the bond of sleep <br />And strain to hear the pond frog peepers peep. <br /> <br />The signs are there, the sudden yellow splash <br />Of optimism in the daily dash; <br />The purple, blue of crocus near a tree, <br />To simulate the coming Summer spree; <br />And still enough of Winter will not go <br />To set us free of gloves and hat and snow. <br /> <br />It is the human wanting sets the pace <br />Of Winter, Spring and Summer, that we trace <br />On calendars as if the world was but <br />Some human purpose meant to pose and strut.<br /><br />William Brendan McPhillips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/april-snows/
