Spring

Amidst rising fever hatched on air,
rashness tangled in dull grey hair,
the heeding earth gives contemptuous stare
and turns her back on winter.
In peopled square, infectious breath gains pace;
the battle on to cleanse last season's face
of age old dust and injuries from winter's rust.
Smoothing wrinkles, softening lines
the healing force move to the chimes
of Chaffinch, its song held in a clinch of pines. 
The trees, their toes in luxury spread,
unaccustomed warmth sent to their head,
while breezes gently dip their tasselled tips.
Their new coned fruits, already tanned
above older siblings laid in sand,
awakening do stretch their velcro-ed chests. 
Visitors on feathered foreign wing descend;
exotic gifts with notes that sing.
Folios of future trends,
that show this is where the winter ends.