There is a lightness in the air

Pulling up the sober leaves to play,

Dashing all their loneliness away,

A dance between the earth and air.

And all the bare branches are budding

As black furrows the farmers are cutting,

Great gashes of living earth.

And the grackle's feathers gleam black-blue

As the land explodes with birth.

And all these tears I've wept

That melted like March snow

Rise now, like April rain,

Or snowdrops in the field.