spring mulch

The rain that came in stead of snow
they say will make the flowers grow;
the leaves we piled upon their beds
have now grown brown, no longer red;
and that same rain that soaked the leaves
has turned them into soggy weaves
that I must rake and stuff in bags
that slowly sag like moldy rags.
But out of this the sprouts emerge
to make me wonder if the birds
that hang around will think them worms
and nip them off before their term.
Before their term is like the weather
that has drawn our friends of feather
so early north that there comes bobbin’
a month ahead, red breasted robin.
So early crows and robins swarming:
is this a sign of global warming?
And while I rake and stuff the leaves in
I ask if there’s snow in the coming season.