Benevolent white birches

Wave their sprawling heads contentedly

In the shaded cool of the afternoon.

I cannot bar my eyes by walls of stone

From the peace beyond their borders.

A rich sun,

Never too bright

Never cold;

The snow crusted with spring’s tears.

Soft songs ride the wind—

Do the birds see the awakening before any of my kind?

Is the day too harried yet

To bask in the breath of the wood?