The Heralds of Spring

The croplands are a palette
Of purple, brown and green.
My yard a mass of hyacinth
With daffodils between.
A rogue March wind plays havoc
On neatly braided hair,
And brings a smell of greening
To clean the lifeless air.
Reclusive little pussy toes
Peep from their fairy ring,
And strident herald starlings
Declare the coming spring.

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