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Sunday, 22 February 2015

Early Spring

And spring arrives
amid the tired browness of it all
amid the skeletons of last year's growth.

Beside the ever changing river
between the blasts of
cold air
accompanied by
hesitant half song of thrush
and bike pump regularity of tit
amid a reluctance of year-turning.

It seems
we just get used
to the rhythm
and pace of it
the cold grey dampness
of winter's overcoat
and then we are forgiven.

At walking pace, I'm told, the sun
walks up from the south
before halting a while
and then walks back...

But now spring arrives
amid the thin bleakness
of it all
with peeps
and squeaks
and green shoots.
Its molehill mountains change
towards warmth and growth
and I am blessed by it all in this existence.

Perhaps I'm selfish in drinking it all in
with no concern
for the problems of the world about which I can do nothing
except pray be the way I want the world to be.

Is that too simplistic
to ro
romantic
Mr Bombastic
made out of plastic?

I just  wanted to say about the molehills
so I called into KFC and had a cuppa
like McD's 99p.