Daffodil bonnets waved in a well lit breeze, a capering cadence, a well rooted riot of tamest ease. Through winter they’d slumbered, bulbs cradled in full-dark. Come first softening, come the flow of ice-banished rain, green wands tarried not. No! No! Up, up they came. The tight buds of March graduated in April, and how handsome was their flock! Of beauty they gave in ample generosity. Of scent they gave the same! Ne’er was a floral chorus more bright-bold, more bass-baritone, more strident in the declaration of spring’s sweet song.
Each spring season the flowers were my holy grail; not hidden, nor requiring a perilous path, yet awaiting for the opening of the soul-eye.
Upon newly green wings comes the season of spring, freed at last from winter's cocoon.
To each great song are opening notes, signifying marvels to come for ears and soul. And so it the same with the season of spring, its greatness declared by the first glimmers of green.
The season of spring comes as a mountainous gift brought one patient pebble at a time.
And so we enter the season of spring, when the earth opens up nature's treasure chest.
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