My great-grandmother, Stella Watson, who raised her family about a mile and a half from where I'm sitting, wrote a poem for spring. Later, my great Aunt Betty (who is about a mile away from where I'm typing this, and I must remember to go visit her!) commissioned an artist friend to paint copies of the poem with calligraphy and a forsythia in the background. I took the time, while working on my first ever publishing project (more news to come) to scan the version I have.
