Decrypted

56 poems, something like this:
Just Warming Up
We worry, when the winter is warm,
that plants will bloom to die in a storm,
that birds and beasts too soon will mate;
we hope exuberance will wait.
The fox comes out and prowls the hill;
he gives the squirrels an awful thrill.
And birds that should have flown away
trill in the trees ten hours a day.
The gardens try to bud and leaf.
Crocus bloom beyond belief.
Doggies nap less than they should.
Even the snow is pure and good.
And treasured, the whole winter long,
you are my thrill, my mate, my song.