Springs of my youth were orange blossom scented.
Days were spent in a dreamy slumber
Yearning for an unknown future.
56 Springs I have celebrated
And yet, every Spring is
New Life Springs forth all around me.
Spring will not come to Canada quick enough for Renee
to see one more
The Birds have stopped circling her head
and sit upon her pillow
in watchful silence.
White doves of Peace await you, Lovee.
Blue Skies all the way, Renee.
Not a bat in sight.
**blows eternal kisses**