Cord Byrd: “Springtime Mr. President, this is my 85th year, but it is my 86th coming of spring. I am 85 years old--85 years…”

“Springtime Mr. President, this is my 85th year, but it is my 86th coming of spring. I am 85 years old--85 years young--but this is my 86th first day of spring. So, Mr. President, at long last spring has arrived. How sweet it is. How sweet it is. Spring has arrived. After a long gray winter made darker by the specter of war, and with that conflict now upon us, it is heartening to be reminded of the great rhythm of the seasons and the renewal of the earth and the life upon it. Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea So wrote the poet Robert Burns. On the world stage, war plays a leading role, demanding our attention with the strident clangor of steel and the tramp of marching troops. But in the wings, subtly repainting the background sets, spring softens the scenery and gives us hope for the rebirth of peace. Bright crocuses blanket the ground in a confetti of color and the green ink of new growth stains the tawny fields of winter. The redbuds cover the hillsides in a rosy blush as bare forests rush to cover themselves in verdant blankets of new leaves.”