Classic Poem

These are sings of gentle spring:
Flocks of wild geese on the wing,
Flying in a broken string;

Brooks that tumble, roar and rush,
Sinking drifts, and piles of slush,
And a universal mush.

Woman with a draggled dress,
Puddles that seem bottomless,
Roads all ditto — such a mess!

Horses flounder, loaded down;
Swearing driver — been to town —
Curses, plunges — overthrown!

Fancy sleighs for sale at cost,
Balmy breezes, nipping frost,
Wild march mornings, tempest-tossed.

Robins, bluebirds, sleet and snow,
Icy winds, and sunny glow —
What comes next you never know.

Sounds of coughs and choking wheezes,
And of loud, spasmodic sneezes,
Mingle with the straying breezes.

Handkerchiefs are bought and sold
By the dozen, I am told.
Question — " Have you had your cold? "

Come, ye singers, rise and sing!
Poets, tune your every string
For an ode to gentle spring.