Isn't Spring Simply Lovely?

...slowly but surely the melt is happening 

...because we are still waiting for the first bloom of green-gold the writer drew from experience of Past spring to dream of Spring-future;-)

Spring melts svelte fences, spreads a mat of lilting laughter where 

Earth wore the shroud of loud, proud winter's wild and frigid flare

We ride the wide wave of brave daydreams spawned by yawns blue-gold

Oh, isn't spring simply a lovely blessing to behold?

I've never heard a tree complain when it is stripped of leaf

but it stands bold and stalwart through cold rain and snow; Belief

buoys the body because bud, like wisdom soft unfolds

within the waiting; isn't spring lovely in greens and golds?

In the city, spring is pretty where the gritty boulevard

Wears blushing trees like emerald bracelets on a weathered arm

And countryside is like a bride preparing for her groom

in her best dress; isn't spring simply stunning in first-bloom?

Spring doffs the dowdy hill and rill then spills in daffodil

it 'considers the lilies', clothing earth in apparel

unrivaled in its finery; a lithesome loom weaving

fresh fabric; isn't spring simply a lovely, lovely thing?

Janet

Victoria and I watched the morning giggle in pink puddles and gold looking-glasses, somehow its giddiness seeped into our souls...

I was trying to refrain from writing another spring poem but every so often Cyndy shares a poem or an excerpt of a poem that makes me want to stand on my chair and cheer LOUDLY. this is such a poem...(while I don't live in the west, I hear many 'west' stories from hubby who travels there every week... ) and after reading it my pen could not resist...here is the poem Cyndy linked to in full.

Open Range

Western land was made for those
Who like land wild and free,
For cattle, deer, and buffalo,
For antelope and me;
For those who like a land the way
That it was made by God
Before men thought they could improve
By plowing up the sod.

I want the rivers running clean,
I want a clear, blue sky,
A place to draw a good, deep breath
And live, before I die.
I want the sage, I want the grass,
I want the curlew's call,
And I don't want just half a loaf,—
I've got to have it all.

These cities seem to ear me down
And I can't stand their roar,
They make me have the itching foot
To get back West once more.
I hate the milling herds in town
With all their soot and grime,
I wouldn't trade a western trail
For Broadway any time.

Just give me country big and wide
With benchland, hills and breaks,
With coulees, cactus, buttes and range,
With creeks, and mountain lakes,
Until I cross the Great Divide,
Then, God, forgive each sin
And turn me loose on my cayuse
But please don't fence me in.

by Robert H. Fletcher, from Corral Dust, 1936 edition

 

Stan Howe pointed out that "ear" in the line "These cities seem to ear me down" is correct. He writes, "To 'ear' an animal down is to grab him by the ear and either pull him down or twist his ear until he goes down on his knees and can be pulled over on his side. It works better with cows than horses but can be done with horses, too.  Bob knew exactly what he was writing. In cowboy parlance if something is earing you down, it is wearing on you and will finally get you down.  That is what is happening in the poem, the city is earing him down."