This is a poem I wrote for her years ago.
YOU ARE MY SPRING
Walking on the Canal today, Bela and I
were serenaded by dozens of birds.
Bela stopped twice to cock his head and listen.
I could not escape their songs.
My soul leaned toward Spring.
Perhaps they are back too soon
and will freeze in the February night.
But they were there this morning,
trying out their voices,
making music that sounded like April,
when we both were born.
Some winters, here in the Northeast,
test the will and Hope, itself.
Others, like this one,
tease us with their mildness.
Either way—Winter Comes.
And it is the Spring I lean toward, always,
no matter which winter rolls in.
Today, walking with a Puli dog,
listening to the misplaced choruses of birds,
I realized that I lean toward you
the way I lean toward Spring.
In all the Winter-times of my life,
I lean toward you.
You are my Spring,
my Hope, my Love.