The world fills with color, deepens in hue,
Trees grow with green, vines tower,
Bulbs of winter now blossom for you.
We broke beds in November, marked with stone,
Fires of winter we lay by in mirth,
The white ash on beds shone
‘Til April rain turned ash to earth,
We planted while our son would sing;
For You love flowers, and we you;
Worked, we, to thunder of spring;
The soft shoots of the plantings grew.
The sunlight of May at first break of day
Embraces your love in fullest display.
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