"Symbol" by R. L. Pikett (1957)
Google probably wouldn't find this poem classifiable as 'Spring', but I know it is because I wrote it.
The English teacher, Ike Stamper, had asked us for homework to write a short story around two contrasting symbols. I didn't like short stories much, and as a child born in WW2 and growing up in post-war Britain I hated the way public life was driven by jingoistic symbols. This poem was the rebellious result. I then had to wait a week for the work to be returned, and expecting to be damned for my impertinence.
That fear deepened when I saw he had given me no mark for the work, and eventually I simply had to ask. He said he hadn't given a mark because he felt that 10/10 wouldn't be enough, and then read it out to the class.
He later entered it in the Poetry Society's local competition, without my knowledge, and it won. I think that was the first time I'd ever won anything.