By Alice E Van Sickle
I met Miss Spring in the garden;
I followed her footsteps small,
Found her throwing swelled buds on the lilac tree
And answering a robin’s call.
Her hair was made of sunshine, Her eyes blue like the sky,
Her mouth a dimpling rosebud, Her arms lifted on high
Were tossing blossoms, pink and white, perfuming all the air.
The birds came clustering ’round her head’,
Her rippling voice was rare.
I watched her from a hidden nook,
She swayed with every breeze;
I caught her tossing blossoms on peach and apple trees.
Then I called softly, “Welcome to my garden bare,
It’s never very fine,” and she replied–
“Just help me out and I’ll make it rare,
In colors covered sweet with flowers you love to smell,
Do what I ask and you’ll recall this visit very well”.