SPRING FEVER
The sap is rising and the stallion rears
To clap his mighty hoofs upon the mare’s
Frisky rump, but she whisks away
As if inviting him to come and play
And he is game. Off and away they go.
It is the season that does stir the blood,
The time when every river is in flood,
And my old heart is gladdened by the show.
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