Some Of Them Are Spring

 There is so much to live for when the sun unwraps the earth

But we embrace sere sweeps to start, the heart wild with delight

At prospects of what waits beneath the waning deeps of white

Yes, we are straining at the bridle and chomping at the bit

to remove words like 'almost' and 'soon' inserted in the verses below 

From Song of Solomon 2:11-12

For, lo, the winter is (almost) past,

the rain is (soon) over and gone;

The flowers (will soon) appear on the earth;

the time of the singing of birds (almost) is come,

and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

Yes, in Ontario we know there will still be snow

but this bit of spring-wink the past few days has kindled the fever!

Last week I clipped some lilac and apple-tree branches and put them in a vase

...this week, a bit of indoor spring!

There is so much to live for when the sun unwraps the earth

Like a grand gift of hills and rills and woodlands primed with birth

When birdsong fills yon paling arc as darkness melts like snow

And wonder is a hunter, hungry for floral hello

And nature to put on a show of green in every shade

As bud and bulb begin to flow with posy promenade

But we embrace sere sweeps to start, the heart wild with delight

At prospects of what waits beneath the waning deeps of white

Of garden-getaways and farmers stirring sacred dust

To plant a whole new season’s worth of earth’s ‘in God we trust’

For spring will always find its way, though it may take a bit

To convince Old Man Winter we are weary of his wit

The brook bounces with ballads, bubbling, sparkling melody

After cold bars that swung ajar and set its music free

The corner of the porch where we shivered and hunched last week

Now leaves a kiss of summer on the pallid, up-turned cheek

The hour of first flowers starts to nudge, tickle and tease

Bowers of thought that long did not indulge such fantasies

There is so much to smile and dream and sing for as the world

Waves like a beaming banner beneath God’s goodness unfurled

Where joy and grief will fill the sheaf of days, but not without

The mercy of the One who turns time’s season-wheel about

And threads the lusty loom of life with multi-coloured string

That always first runs through His fingers; some of them are Spring

© Janet Martin