Forsythia

I walked my dog about the day
After a mild snow melting
The pavement soaked by
The gushing of swollen
Grasses saturated and dark
Littered with chunks of snow.

The air was fresh and crisp
My flannel sleeves rolled up
And beside the damp Bradford pears
Broke the yellow forsythia blooming
the first of bushes of the spring
In these rusty Virginia hills.