Though winter is with us still
the birds have begun to sing,
to the cues of spring,
first a cardinal, then a wren
and now this morning in early March,
as a chill dawn pinks the sky,
the wistful fluting of a mourning dove
which, after winter’s longueurs,
when few but crows were heard,
now finds itself bestirred
to loose its song.
Richard Greene
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-notes/
