Now stirs the dormant seed in wintry bed
Where from the bond of autumn-frond it fell
The visions that we nursed of storm-cursed dread
Surrender to time’s rolling, tolling swell
And loam that lured dusk’s early lullaby
Grows restless now where summer’s gardens sigh
The overbearing gale pales as the sun
Expands its strands before the day is done
And bronze landscapes are eager for the snow
Of daisy, anemone and musk-mallow
How long the tree has waited, not in vain
To cradle nest and fledgling on its limb
To croon the tune of leaf-song once again
Where now its stands bereft of nature’s hymn
This tug-of-temperatures soon must relent
As Old Man Winter's will and chill is spent
Soon orchard bowers will flower and spill
Fair, pink-frocked ballerinas to each hill
And everyone is young and full of smiles
Eager to dance upon spring’s silk-green isles
Methinks I hear a low, lush river blush
Is it the heady rush of budding shoots?
This game of waiting for the blossomed bush
Teases the frost from nature’s muddy boots
And teaches us the art of patient sighs
For spring that never yet has lost its way
To earth, and the rebirth of paradise
Soon, soon this stone-cold hold will roll away
Where even now both sod and sky are rife
With hints of resurrection and new life
© Janet Martin
