And she came home to dinner that evening:
the personification of spring.
Rosy cheeks and the sweet scent of blossom,
and beauty with her did she bring.
She rushed through the door in a flurry,
hatless; bootlaces undone;
one hand clutching freshly picked crocuses,
and her face bore the kiss of the sun.
Golden curls tumbled loose all about her;
her ribbon she'd lost on the way.
And her dress: pale blue; muddied and torn;
pulled in curtsey with "Sorry I'm late!"
