Spring taps lightly at the door,

then spills across the classroom floor,

through open windows, gentle air,

a quiet change that’s suddenly there.

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The sky stays bright a little longer,

We don’t rush home like before,

We sit, we talk, we let time bend,

as if these days will never end.

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Senior year loosens around the edges.

Classes blur into conversations,

The best parts of the day aren’t in any schedule.

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Laughter beams, sunlight glows in the presence of our friends

Share looks across the room.

That says more than words ever could,

like we’re all in on something ending.

Spring doesn’t need to say a word,      

but leaves it written, soft, between. 

It shows us how to hold on tight.

To afternoons that drift too fast,

to laughs that echo down the halls,

like we could make them always last

In spring’s soft light, we start to see

The days we rushed are memories.