It’ll be summer soon and the orchards will be in blossom,
the birds will be nesting in the hazel thickets.
And you’ll be eating the first,
of the strawberries with cream.
Do you remember the taste of strawberries?
After winter’s last frost and gossamer threads of ice melt away,
When buds of green and dew glistening are the habits of a new day,
And the gospels of birds are the only sound you care to hear,
will you remember the taste of strawberries?
When storms rear their gray heads,
you’ll run out and dance in the rain. It’ll soon be summer.
Can you peer through the depths of a long and weary winter
at the last shredded, wispy ends of its wrath,
and see the waving grass, the shining sun,
the wind in the meadow, the rain on the mountain side?
Can you look past the disheartening snows
and dismal mornings to see a warmer, brighter time?
Can you remember the taste of strawberries?