Three Poems About Spring

Today I’m feeling all the feels that come with the changing of seasons. The air is warm, the sky is blue, the birds are flirting with each other nonstop.

April is National Poetry Month (in America)! So take a few minutes to enjoy some fun springtime poems by yours truly to celebrate the joy of Spring, my favorite season.

Image by Skye Nicholson | Noblitt Park, 2020

Come, Be Wild With Me

Come, be wild with me 
in my rebellious yard.

Come roll on confetti carpets 
of chickweed and violets,

and run your toes through unruly locks
of white clover and plantain.

Dance with the dandelions who polka-dot the green
like frothy fireworks and miniature suns.

This psychedelic lawn 
is a painting of pointillism protest.

We’re rioting against Round-Up;
we’re organizing out here;

opposing the pellets of poison
dropped on the dirt like a nutrient-rich napalm.

Dreadlocks of ground ivy gather 
by the neighbor’s gate in peaceful dissent,

while runners of stray suburban strawberry 
muster across invisible battle lines 

to challenge the stately vert ranks 
of his well-mown militia.

Put your ear to the dirt and hum with us
a rally strong and steady,

Hello no, we won’t go!
Don’t spray us, just let us grow!

Hell no, we’re here to stay!
No atrazine, penoxsulam or NPK!

©Vixen Lea 2021

Image by Skye Nicholson | 8th Street, Columbus, Indiana

Hello, Spring

like a curled child
skin pressed by sleep,
spring blinks awake.

What a gift every year!
a treat saved back all winter
to be found again in bloom 
and bird and breeze.

I never understood 
people who choose 
to live in a place 
without seasons.

like a shy lover
head bowed, lashes lifted
each petal swells 

In anticipation—
with a blush 
just warm enough
to melt the frost.

It happens every year,
but it is always 
a rush—
like the first time;

A titter of titillation 
as shivering blossoms 
offer a sneak peak—
pink and round and 

and the relief 
we feel as newness 
bursts us open!

A flicker 
of that fervor 
of forgotten youth;
a reminder 

Of how 
life really is.

©Vixen Lea 2021

Image by Skye Nicholson | Crocus


It’s too cold!
yells the nagging wind.
You’ll freeze to death out here,
whispers the pessimistic snow.
You’ll never survive the nibbling deer,
chatters the bossy squirrel.

Crocus don’t care.

Her bold adolescent sprouts
push aside last year’s leaves
and she reaches up to
poke at the glimmering sun.
No one’s gonna tell her
what she can or can’t do.

Watch me,

she tells that know-it-all squirrel
and kicks away the tag-a-long flakes.
Flicking a green middle finger to the icy wind
she rises, fierce and fearless.
This party can start now that Crocus is here,
turning heads and making a scene.

like the badass bulb her momma raised her to be.

©Vixen Lea 2021

I share most of my poetry under the pseudonym Vixen Lea on If you liked these poems, please check out my latest poem published on The POM (a Medium poetry collective) for a bit of silliness:

bugs n slugs

a poem by Vixen Lea

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