When I was young I lived in a world of dreams,
Of moods and myths and illusionary schemes
Though now I’m much more grown up,
I fear that I must own up -
To the fact that I’m in doubt of
What the modern cynics shout of ….
They say it’s spring,
This feeling light as a feather
They say this thing
This magic we share together
Came with the weather too ….
They say it’s May.
That’s made me daft as a daisy.
It’s May they say -
That gave the whole world this crazy,
Heavenly hazy hue -
I’m a lark I’m a wing,
I’m a spark of a fire fly’s flame.
Yet to me
This must be
Something more than a seasonal thing
They say it’s Spring
Those bells I can hear ringing
It may be spring -
But when the robins start singing
You’re what I’m clinging to
Though they say it’s Spring
It’s you.
If poets sing
That when a heart’s sympathetic
It’s merely spring
Then poets’ plights are pathetic
Thought I’m poetic too.
They say it’s spring
For lovers there’s where the lore is
That evil thing
For which September the cure is
This day I’m sure is true
Though I know
That it’s so
That my fancy may turn into Spring
With a right one inside
One can find the perpetual thing
Did I need Spring
To bring the ring that you bought me?
Though it was spring
That wondrous day that you caught me
Darling I thought we knew
That it wasn’t spring
‘Twas you.
