Spring daisy chain

This is a rai poem, the kind that could go on forever! For the Scavenger Hunt.

Spring daisy chain

The spring wind is cold,
older than mountains,

fountains of lava,
balaclava warm.

Swarming bees hum,
drumming like thunder,

under the rain cloud,
loud as jays winging,

singing their hoarse notes,
throats full of crow-caw.

Raw are the nights, still
chill, not for chick waifs,

safe from winter’s teeth,
beneath mother’s wing.

Spring trees are greening,
preening their feathers,

wethers their wool coats,
goats their dainty feet.