A vision came to me of spring

A vision came to me of spring
Across the bright, cold, winter air
of budding trees and birds that sing;
a field of meadow flowers fair
daffodils and cornflowers too,
fresh and bright and kissed with dew.

A fairy land it seemed to me,
and longing then I was for spring
when robins sing in every tree;
having their blithe and cheery fling,
filling the world with a merry sound
while blossoms everywhere abound.

The vision faded, I looked around
and saw the boughs all decked in snow,
a blanket of white upon the ground,
a single bird the only sound.
And then the breeze blew soft and clean
bringing forth a breath of spring.
Sylvia Star