False Spring in Boulder

In Boulder’s air, so crisp and bright,
False spring paints the world with light.
Tiny hands reach toward the sky,
Chasing clouds that drift up high.

Feet splash through the melting snow,
Sunlit puddles start to grow.
Laughter rings where green shoots peek,
Soft as whispers, small and meek.

​On the playground, wild and free,
Children chase a fleeting dream.
For winter waits, but let them run,
Dancing now in borrowed sun.