Someone is coming
Over the hill,
Golden her laughter
As wild daffodil.
Someone comes dancing
Over the land
A lithe* catkinned willow
The wand in her hand.
Someone who waited
For winter to pass
Is singing her name
In rain on the grass.
Someone delightful
Advances, we know,
For in her footprints
The violets grow.
Rinsed by a shower,
His flute crystal-clear,
A glad lark is calling,
"April is here!"
* Earlier version (before Path to Home) uses "little" instead of "lithe"
