The boats drift in and out, floating on the black ocean
The Atlantic, cold and dark, it shows no emotion
The fog crawling in deeper towards the green land
The jagged rocks creates a layer over sand.

Humidity hangs low, a blanket of sticky Spring air
The snow, it melts away, in it's demise and despair
I sit here on the dead grass of the cliffs over the beach
Looking at hills far away, alone, and out of reach.

The seagulls circle over head, peering at the water below
Hunting again after these long months of ice and snow
The sun is far away, further than the eye can see
It's another dead and sunless beginning of Spring to me.

Not at least for another month will we see our beautiful Spring
The green grass and the flowers, the sun and heat it brings
Though dark clouds hang and rain pours down across this great land
It will always be my home; my home is Newfoundland.

For the home I will always know as my own. And for the dead Spring that is yet to come upon us like every year.