Spring In Kansas.
And puss of the willows again I spy,
While over the hill with the flush of dawn
Comes the touch of the southwind, gone so long.
At the edge of the brook is a faint line of white
Left by winter in its northward flight;
High overhead in clusters of red
The lacy buds of the elm trees spread.
Up from the horizon, quick as the swift
A huge thunder-cloud is beginning to lift.
Yellow-green is the landscape, charged is the air
And the fresh smell of rain is everywhere.
Past is the shower so drenchingly wet,
Out peeps the sun from a bank of jet,
And the songs of the birds seem to say
Chee, towee, Spring's come to Kansas to-day.
__Clara Catherine White
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)