You must be traveling solo this year,
Not drifting along with the sun.
You usually arrive with a large entourage,
In rhythm with nature, as one.
Until you arrive with your sweet song of hope,
The tune remains timeworn and plain.
Until you enter with power and grace,
All flora and fauna abstain.
In our dreams by day and by night,
Color replaces the gray.
In beautiful pictures we hold in our minds,
You drive April snowstorms away.
Picture from Pinterest