Spring Styles - A poem by Margaret Evans

Spring Styles.

Soft, tender bulbs in their dark berth
Are wondering why old Mother Earth
Is cross and cold and bids them stay
All covered up - it's time to play.

And heeding not her warning frowns,
They scamper out in their new gowns;
Bright blue and yellow, red and white,
They nod and play in bright sunlight.

Then sharp and clear, a blinding flash,
The wind and rain--a fearful clash;
All wet and torn, they stand forlorn
In bright new gowns that have been shorn.

But Mr. Sun, with roguish grin,
Looks out and says: "That is a sin;
But dry your tears and smile awhile,
Your lacy flounces are in style."

Kansas Poets
Edited by May William Ward
(New York: Henry Harrison. 1935)
Page 38