But spring does not abruptly come.
It waffles with the winter some.
Like an epiphany slow-dawning,
It wakens with a stuttered yawning.
Do not expect a sudden pop
Of color green, or leafy top,
Or meadow bloomed, or forest groomed,
Or winter doomed, or cold entombed,
But gradual return from grey.
So listen closely what I say,
And to my former promise cling:
There will be, oh tree, a spring!