My eyes are drawn back unceasingly
To the wondrous scene beyond,
Where stands in all it's majesty,
The tree, of which I'm so fond,
The time is Spring, so now she wears
Her delightful pastel gown,
Swaying and moving her arms in the breeze,
As she dances up and down,
She moves and sways so gracefully,
As if there is music she hears,
But no, there's only the sound of the wind
Floating gently to the ears,
Her dress is made of blossom pink,
Her leaves are tinted gold
And as the sun glows upon her face,
She is beautiful to behold,
She moves as a ballet dancer
Moves gently to and fro,
Daintily moving her head and arms,
The better her talents to show,
One forgets all the hustle and bustle,
The traffic and noise all around,
In this one little magical corner,
Where delight for the eye can be found,
She will not wear her ball gown for long though,
Her blossoms will fall to the ground,
For the moment, she's dancing to Springtime
And my joy in her beauty's profound.