A white feather rides on a breath of air
And decends with grace,
Perhaps the utter of an angel's whisper,
Falling on a special place.
The dance of the daisies commences,
And the wind ushers the leaves on the trees,
The red breast of the little robin,
Expands to her playful song...
The blackbird answers in tune,
And the wood pigeon adds rhythm and percussion.
The garden hymn is sung.
Oh sweet, sweet rose,
Your perfume carried gently upon the breeze,
You with petals luxuriously soft,
Embelish the essence,
Of this glorious day in late spring.
By Helen Ratcliff.