Spirit Of Spring Poem by Chelsea Crisman

Sweet clover beneath my feet
As sweet as dream inside of a dream.
My toes curl in contented comfort.
The sigh that escapes my lips was impossible to hold.

So this a morning of slight dew?
This is the true morning of spring?
Those flowering trees inspire me.
I just can't keep it in any longer.

My body flows with a silent rhythm.
Quick feet and graceful movement are what I've become.
I'm no longer the burdened girl;
No longer the girl with too much on her plate.

I'm as light as a feather.
What is that thing called stress?
My heart is as fresh as it was before worry.
Finally, my mind is clean.

Eyes fall upon me.
Yet it makes no difference.
I may look like a clown, or a graceful ballerina.
I don't know, and I'm too free to care.

Twisting and turning, twirling and soaring…
My body follows a silent tune.
These feet of mine seem to fly.
This moment should never end.

Still, I stop.
Not from exertion or embarrassment.
Nor from a feeling lost.
I stop so that I may see where I have stopped.

I stare into the face of the most beautiful man.
Blinking, as if he can see me, he reaches out.
He believes he can catch me.
The man knows little.

I cannot be caught.
Wild and free as the breeze,
I won't allow anyone to stop me.
For at this moment, I am the spirit of Spring.