SPRING

The tiny buds bedeck the trees, they’re waiting to burst forth,

The wind veers round to come from south, forgetting where is north,

The grass becomes a greener green, in need of weekly trim,

The days they now are lengthening, the evenings not so dim,

Where lay old rotting flower leaves we now see fresh green shoots,

It’s time to search out in the shed for where you put those boots,

The tulip, like a sentinel, stands proud in its domain,

But fears the harshness of the wind and force of driving rain,

The primula, aubrietia, adding splendour to the scene,

How wonderful this newness is, this vibrant, verdant green,

The bird song fills the air from dawn, they’re busy raising young,

To bring new generations before autumn’s song is sung,

For what you have is Nature in its splendour, for always,

It means that e’ er long you will bask in warmer summer days,

Rejoice within, admire the show before you in its glory,

You’re witnessing a chapter in a never-ending story. 

© John Pemberton 2002