When thin recruits come pushing up
And sun spreads through the soil
And puddles in the footprints gleam
And shake like hopkins-foil
And dreams of leaving lift the hands
Of boys with homespun hope,
Then boundless scope and fluid shape
Of green and possible escape
Make the blossoms boil;
And color is the consequence,
The road a second sky.
The tethered and the tedious,
Their dun and tan and beige and sand,
Begin to feel obscurely hurt.
Spring thrives by root and dirt.