Just Before April Came by Carl Sandburg

The Snow piles in dark places are gone.
Pools by the railroad tracks shine clear.
The gravel of all shallow places shines,
A white pigeon reels and somersaults
Frogs plutter and squdge--

and frogs beat the air

with a recurring thin steel sliver of
melody

Crows go in fives and tens;

they march their black feathers past a blue pool;

they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug

sits on my hand washing his forelegs

I might ask: who are these people?