Little Red Rainboots

A warm wind blows
through blooming birch trees.
Specks of green sprinkle the barren wasteland
that winter left in its wicked wake. 

Snow slowly melts from its resting place,
drip, drip, dripping into puddles. 
Puddles, 
where parents watch as their children 
splash, splash, splash
in their little red rainboots. 

Flowers flourish their fluorescent fingers, 
reaching out for the shimmering sunshine 
that will quench the hunger in their 
empty bellies. 

Violets and tulips and daisies and daffodils 
unfurl their vibrant arms, 
each trying to outshine the others. 

But the kids in their little red rainboots 
focus only on themselves,
not noticing the flowers' beauty and grace.

Now the flowers weep, 
for they are icily ignored. 

Trees reach their branches 
up towards the heavens, 
sighing in satisfaction 
as they stretch their cramped branches, 
returning themselves to full glory 
after a long winter's nap. 

Birches and beeches and balsams 
watch through wooden windows 
as children splish and splash
in their little red rainboots. 

But little red rainboots only emerge 
when spring spreads her soothing warm embrace 
over the crying earth.