Spring

by ST

The mountain peeks
From under a blanket of snow,
Sees spring has come 
To the valley below.
Footed hills
Shoo away chills
And budding, leaves
No frosted frills.
Mouths of canyons
Yawn, as they stretch:
Crowned-heads stately water-etched.
Streams choose again 
Their banks to fill
With the richness of life
Blooming at will.
Seasons before, 
And seasons to come,
Will see color blush
From the black and white brush
With winter.