Seasonal dash by Ogden Nash

Photo by Barry Wallace

SPRING SONG

Listen buds, it's March twenty first;

Don't you know enough to burst?

Come on, birds, unlock your throats!

Come on, gardeners, shed your coats!

Come on, zephyrs, come on flowers,

Come on grass, and violet showers!

And come on, lambs, in frisking flocks!

Salute the vernal equinox!

Twang the cheerful lute and zither!

Spring is absolutely hither!

Yester eve was dark despair,

With winter, winter, everywhere;

Today, upon the other hand,

'Tis spring throughout this happy land.

Oh, such is nature's chiaroscouro,

According to the weather bureau.

Then giddy-ap, Napolean! Giddy-ap, Gideon!

The sun has crossed the right meridian!

What though the blasts of Winter sting?

Officially, at least, it's Spring,

And be it far from our desire

To make the weatherman a liar!

So blossom, ye parks, with cozy benches,

Occupied by blushing wenches!

Pipe, ye frogs, while swains are sighing, 

And furnaces unwept are dying!

Crow, ye cocks, a little bit louder!

Mount, ye sales of paint and powder!

Croon, ye crooner, yet more croonishly!

Shine, ye moon, a lot more moonishly!

And oh ye brooklets, burst your channels!

And oh ye camphor, greet ye flannels!

And bloom, ye clothesline, bloom with wash,

Where erstwhile trudged the grim galosh!

Ye transit lines, abet our follies

By turning loose your open trolleys!

And ye, ye waking hibernators,

Drain anti-freeze from your radiators!

While ye, ye otherwise useless dove,

Remember, please, to rhyme with love.

Then giddy-ap, Napolean! Giddy-ap,Gideon!

The sun has crossed the right meridian!

What though the blasts of winter sting?

Officially, at least, it's Spring! 

Ogden Nash, 1943

Please comment if you wish.

Barry Wallace