THE  MUSICAL  SOUNDS  OF  SPRING

I hear the music of spring,
bees buzzing, buds blossoming.
I see the rhythm of life,
wings beating, raindrops falling.
I love nature's harmony,
birds singing, or brooks babbling.
I know the tempo of man,
bells ringing, and clocks ticking.
I sense seasons repeating,
measuring perfect timing.
I listen to songs of old,
words rhyming, natives chanting.
I sing a different tune,
melancholy, blues longing.
I feel the day's crescendo,
on coming, 'cause I'm going.
I turn on my stereo,
acoustic strumming, loud drumming.
I fly on down the road home,
car driving, fast wheels spinning.
I am my own composer,
hands clapping, and feet tapping.
I am my rhythm and blues,
loud rocking, often jazzing.
I drum in the marching band,
big bands swinging, moods swaying.
I am a fine troubadour,
minstrels trav'ling, harps playing.
I keep my time signature,
straight for writing, not typing.
I listen to what I like,
many a thing during spring.