Off the top of my head (they just get overwritten otherwise):
Spring springs, precociously toddling.
Spring is not rebirth, but toddling;
the new year's birth is hidden in a womb of snow,
its cries the babble of first melting snow.
The infant year is all swaddled limbs,
but the toddler stands, sends out awkward limbs,
grasping shoots and tendrils from its cradle.
It learns to climb inch by inch from its cradle
and leaves the brown arms of its mother
(sends leaves from its mother),
tearing forth to take on the world
(taken into the world),
coats its white world in green scribble,
then finds others in its box to scribble:
red, yellow, blue, rainbows' hue,
scrawling fingerprints of every hue.
Yeah, I know, the same-word endings is kind of a gimmick, but I liked it.