It’s spring; it’s spring
the birdies sing with glee
as all around creeps the columbine vine
startling some stately tree.
It’s spring; it’s spring,
the fishes spin their tale
and swirling near streams, the wildflowers be
home for some tiny snail.
It’s spring; it’s spring;
the valley sings their song;
squirrels in tune
curl their tales at the moon
as green grass grows along.
