The Coming Of Spring
Sometimes I wonder on a cold February day,
Will spring come?
Although the notion is daft and the idea impossible,
I still wonder...
Will the frosty mornings come,
With the jewelled grass being hit by the still cold sun,
Will the the trees dress up in the night,
For a one off end winter show,
Will the young lambs leap from there mother,
And dance upon this lush world.
Or will the dark cold stone of winter stay.
Will bluebells blossom,
With snowdrops holding them side by side,
Will the farmer turn the harden soil,
And wake it up from winters with vigorous toil,
Will the light blue sky pierce,
Through the wight froth of clouds.
Or will the dark cold stone of winter stay.
The fog vale of winter does not linger,
Longer than it should but still I always wonder,
Will spring come?