SPRING
 

In the meadow, queenly preening,
chlorophyll is greenly weaning
 life from brown and grey.
Winter, with fast-fading powers,
in deep forest shading, cowers,
now a breathless prey.
Feeble tyrant,  withered weary,
by bird voices,  blithered bleary,
where he tries to hide.
Laughing ducks,  north-winging daily,
Cheer-up, cheerily ringing gaily,
where glib robins glide.
Rain-rubbed rock,  now brightly glistens,
as sweet sunshine lightly christens,
those it had estranged.
Every creature, lowly, highly,
brazen-quick or slowly shyly,
seasonally is changed.

- John Whitehead

  .

to John
to Poets
to Moongate