There Is Hardly A Man

Oh, Spring Is Surely Coming, Her Couriers Fill The Air; Each Morn Are New Arrivals, Each Night Her Ways Prepare; I Scent Her Fragrant Garments, Her Foot Is On The Stair.

That Which Distinguishes This Day From All Others Is That Then Both Orators And Artillerymen Shoot Blank Cartridges.

It Is The Life Of The Crystal, The Architect Of The Flake, The Fire Of The Frost, The Soul Of The Sunbeam. This Crisp Winter Air Is Full Of It.

The Life Of Nature We Must Meet Halfway; It Is Shy, Withdrawn, And Blends Itself With A Vast Neutral Background. We Must Be Initiated; It Is An Order The Secrets Of Which Are Well Guarded.

If You Think You Can Do It, You Can.