Two little wrens.
Sitt'n on a fence.
Dodgin the cool spring breeze,
Still feelin the chill, of last nights freeze.
Easter lillies peekin up from the ground,
As if to listen to every sound,
A new sprout seeking to be found.
Sun in midst, wispfully dodging cloud,
Birds churping oh so loud.
Birdies posing for on lookers, from every crowd.
"Do you suppose, spring is near?"
Said Mrs. Wren to her hubby dear.
"I so dreadfully fear.
We won't have spring this year."
"My dear." he replied.
As he turned his head to the side,
Singing his restful sigh,
"I'm sure, not to worry, there is no hurry,
I seen that Mrs. Robbin--red breast yesterday?"
March 5, 2009 12:06 a.m.