Spring is here, the grass is green and warming is the air,

As scudding clouds ride colder winds, above the trees still bare,

Which spread their arms to greet the sun that rises from the lands,

Where dreams are woven out of night, oases from the sands,

But strange, I see a possum, in a place it shouldn’t be,

Perhaps a warming refugee from its home in Tennessee,

Walking down a country lane, past groups of stranger birds,

That cannot fly, but run so fast, it seems they live in herds,

While squirrels are looking ragged, unsure what coat to choose,

For first it’s warm and then it’s cold, it’s easy to confuse,

You see, the seasons are upended, and nothing’s as it was,

And one could think, in just a blink, this was the land of Oz,

But now a vulture overhead that flew from Mexico,

Circles slowly round my head, I think I’d better go,

To play Vivaldi once again, and dance a barcarolle

To remember how it used to be, and satisfy my soul.