When spring has sprung, for many comes regret.
Connect electric cables to the sky -
no glibly silvered words of passers by
slipped silver dollars on your lap, as yet.
Come to the other land where holding colds
are never found, nor vicious winds that scold,
nor blazing shade beneath an azure sky
makes children hide for months. The trailers cry;
for is she gone to Michigan for good?
so lovely to the eye, misunderstood -
the dreadful weather thrown below the sky
was wont to make the lakemen waste and die.