Spring is coming, I sure can wait

I feel no rush, Spring can be late

Boats tied to dock, and jet skis too

Harsh human sounds are very few

Ducks paddle by and murmur quacks

Under wood dock a carp's tail whacks

Fog burns off with the sun's warm rays

Stiff wind picks up and pine boughs sway

Sun hides behind a train of clouds

Rain pit pats on tin roof are loud

Lake turns choppy with tiny waves

Small fire in hearth, my cold bones crave

Watch rain fall on a dimpled lake

This quiet time my soul will take

Spring is coming, I sure can wait

I feel no rush, Spring can be late

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