Is It Time?

Is now the time for giant wing-ed Spring
To swing her ever wid’ning wings up high
And waft out very far dark clouds of rainy
Sleet to sea, where they may sink again?
Is now the time, and this the baby day,
When waking starts in darkest, lowest earth
Of all that’s magical of mighty May,
And seeds, yawning, stretch to feel their worth,
And push and push a little, little more
To reach up closer than they were before?
Who knows? Not I. But in the air
There is a change; a happening is there,
A sense, a scent, a feel, a laughing touch,
That brushes softly, slight, and yet so much!

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