The sight of her is like the pause
between a concert and applause,
the silence, loud and awed, each sense
absorbing beauty too intense.

She’s flush with promise as she peeps
through petal lashes. Then she steeps
herself in floral perfume while
she tries on her seductive smile.

But she’s capricious in her moods;
aggressive past-life attitudes
incite a storm and she rebels
against her youthful budding swells.

A part-ferocious, sweet young thing,
she’s that precocious vamp called Spring.