A new kind of Spring

When the birds stopped singing
And the sun refused to rise,
The moon turned to the stars
Who turned to the clouds
Who scurried behind hills
And asked why
 
Why were there puddles
Splashed dry by winds
Whose orange bruises ached
Across indigo skies
 
We stood on the hillside
Plucked the stars out of clouds
Smoothed the moon with new tides
Eased the sun from its sleep
Hummed new tunes to the birds
And raised the curtain
On a new kind of Spring