Rain, Rain, April Rain
By Annette Wynne
Artist Michael Gorban
Rain, rain, April rain,
Washing tree and window pane,
Tapping every spot of ground,
Lest some sleepy seed be found;
I can watch you and be gay
Though I cannot go to play.
Rain, rain, April rain,
Washer of the hill and plain,
Summer could not be so gay
If it did not rain to-day,
And it’s fun to stay inside
And see you falling far and wide.
Mayflies Arise
By Ima Ryma
Artist Nicholas Hely Hutchinson
Millions arise from waters where
Born in the way of nature’s plan,
The mass moves upward in the air,
Together search in swirling span
Of light be natural or not,
Drawn to the source instinctively,
In totalness of what be sought.
Whatever reason such might be,
The sound and sight of all awing
Is sensed by any passerby,
Pausing to ponder such a thing,
That briefly lives and then will die.
The swarm of mayflies fly as may,
The lives do last but just one day.
Now Is the Month Of Maying
by Thomas Morley.
Artist bijde_hansje
Now is the month of maying,
When merry lads are playing, fa la,
Each with his bonny lass
Upon the greeny grass. Fa la.
The Spring, clad all in gladness,
Doth laugh at Winter’s sadness, fa la,
And to the bagpipe’s sound
The nymphs tread out their ground. Fa la.
Fie then! why sit we musing,
Youth’s sweet delight refusing? Fala.
Say, dainty nymphs, and speak
Shall we play at barley-break? Fa la.
The Common Robin.
Poetry by Laurel Trautwein
Artist Debbie Clark
The robin has returned
with her song
and I do not ask her
of her winter whereabouts
nor tell her how much I’ve missed
the open windows
and the outdoor melodies
that float inside
landing within me
as lightly and longed for as feathers
such whistles and trills
become the music
that brings the rains and
summons the hosta shoots
now shouldering through soil
I cannot budge with a shovel
come July
I will not forget
this novelty
I will not take for granted
this common bird
who is telling me every day
you do not have to be extraordinary
to sing
but to sometimes
forget the world
and remember the earth
to create
something out of nothing
with your singular voice
and so
to dance with the gods
just because…
we are alive
and that is exceptional reason enough
The First Dandelion
by Walt Whitman
Artist Alexandra Dawe
Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
From The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
Artist Inga Moore
Spring Magic!
By Donna L. Ferguson Dudley
copyright 2015
From the secret glades, they’re coming,
(Faery’s Fae, folk of all kinds)!
While, the creatures of the woodland
splay their happy tunes in time!
Elves and Sprites, now, all together
run and tumble down the hills,
while the Faeries, (graceful dancers)
pirouette through daffodils!
Some are flying while they frolic,
scattering their magic dust,
as they welcome Spring’s emergence.
For, their offerings are a must!
Happy, happy, all together,
flowers brighten first to last.
And the grass grows ever greener,
as the magic troupers pass!
Bound 4 Escape 
