In the hush of dawn, ‘neath the old oak’s yawn,
A tender murmur stirs the silent air.
It’s Spring’s soft whisper, a breath so fair,
Waking the world with a touch forlorn.

Petals unfurl in the warmth anew,
Dew-kissed leaves in the morning’s hue,
Spring’s whisper weaves through the emerald bough,
Calling to life what was dormant now.

Beneath the soil, the seeds do stir,
As whispers of spring to them occur,
And every creature, great and small,
Heeds the gentle, life-giving call.

So listen close when the breeze does sway,
For Spring’s whisper might just lead the way,
To renewal, hope, and days more bright,
After winter’s long and lonesome night.