Every morning “dawn with her rosy fingers”
tickles the snow covered mountaintop
and, softening her cold shoulder,
she begins to blush.
Every morning “dawn with her rosy fingers”
tickles the snow covered mountaintop
and, softening her cold shoulder,
she begins to blush.
Oh, the beautiful scent of spring lilacs wafting up in the warm sunshine…returning year after year with reassuring hope.