Monday 31 March 2014

The March of Spring

Another Spring Morning

It begins again with the crow,
perylene-black messenger,
bearer of hope’s green branch,
wielding her leafy trophy she starts
her domestic constructions
high above the flood levels
of the receding winter,
her industrious caws soon joined
by the plaited harmonies
of the small-bird chorus
flitting excitedly in the trees and hedgerows
of the promised spring.

Rafts of bright flowers assemble
spontaneously across the soil,
their wintered bulbs
blowing stored fertility
in bursts of sunshine colour.
The world is getting ready
to replace herself.
Only the trees still flaunt
their naked bones, reminding
us of what we've lost,
what’s to come.

I could easily be swept away by it all,
forget each frenzied new beginning
means another year passed away,
an accumulation of time
that cannot be deconstructed
or brushed off like snow blossom
from the dark shadows of my hair.
The inexorable marching forward,
biological imperative we collude with readily,
the sun calling us awake
to our own self-induced chemical dance –
the lure of another diamond dawn.



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