O this grey day of springtime’s early cheer,
As winters remnant, lingers low hung cloud.
With better days ahead in blue skies clear,
Where bitter discontent is not allowed.
What will the sunny seasons bring this year?
It has the power to make the humble proud.
A sea of yellow, washed across the field,
When Natures beauty wakes, with all revealed.
So slowly slowly, lifts the veil of mist,
Once blanketing the view from naked eyes.
The wilding flow’rs with crowns of amethyst,
Reflect the birth of spring in changing skies.
But winter still had one more little twist.
A show which rolled along, with some surprise.
A static arc of light; a thunderstorm,
As cooler climates slowly start to warm.
O blessèd are the little lambs, newborn,
The fledgling sparrow, raven and the dove.
Young bobby calves, and sheep yet to be shorn,
All find their place directed from above.
Indeed this season has no place for scorn,
As springtime always nurtures first sweet love.
So birds and bees all do their thing in spring,
They find their voices as they sweetly sing
So now expectantly we sit and wait,
For all that we would have the summer be.
Intrinsic’ly aligned with sunshine’s fate,
Upon our skin we seek its rays for free.
But melanoma causes such debate,
Now is this really what I want for me?
Each season is in turn from heaven sent,
The jonquil blooms through winters last lament.
© Garry Spooner