For Violet, on Your Sixth Birthday
by Morgan S. Grether
Sweet Violet, you were born in spring, and now
At six you are a child of spring as well.
You love it when the rains come. Yes, you run
For your boots and splash to your heart’s content, laughing long
And loudly. You find joy amidst the mists;
You frolic in the fogs; you hail the hails.
You’re always throwing back your head to feel
Rain droplets on your smiling little face.
Your tongue juts out to taste it too, before
You sing, “I’m singing in the rain!” And kick
Like an Irish dancer, marveling at it all.
And next your destination is the yard.
Mud warrior, dirt princess, shoveler of mighty heaps,
You search with epic glee for worms and grubs
Like a 49er scavenged for clumps of gold.
There is no hesitation to get filthy,
Cramped, or soaked in your contented quest
For life within the soil. For the child
Of spring is as focused as a scientist
Can get, and you await your Nobel prize
In something that relates to joy in earth
And rain and laughter. Happy birthday, love.