The Little Piper and the Spring

Kneeling down, as if to pray,
the little piper softly plays,
upon the pipe, a melody
of Spring that sings inside of me.

Oh, how the gentle rosebud ripens;
slowly opening its lips.
Oh, how the purple thistle whistles
and, milk white, the snow drop drips.

Oh sweet sound of suckling swallows
as, with hungry mouths, they plead
and sweet parent’s kiss that follows
as, with ecstasy, they feed.

And, as her gentle air she plays,
I stroke her hair like sun’s warm rays
then soft, pink petals of a rose;
and thank god for such things as those.