SPRING by Barrie Purnell
The pale light diffuses through the clouded window
Signaling the start of yet another new day,
Not just an ordinary day,
But the first day of spring.
The mornings’ irritations fade when I look out to see
The world shining fresh and new after the rain.
New life is returning
After winter’s vandalism.
Pussy Willow catkins show like tiny fingers;
A few carmine red shoots are already visible
On the pruned rose stems,
Prompting a memory of
The breathtaking blooms of last summer’s roses;
Leading actors in nature’s endless resurrection,
But now the stems stand stark
Against the dark damp earth.
The rising sun throws dancing shadows of leaves
Across the ivy clad railway sleeper wall.
The broader shadows of
Clouds glide across the path.
A pale, lemon yellow, primrose pushes through
Its’ winter ravaged, worn out rosette of leaves,
And lifts its’ pretty head
Towards the tepid sun.
Raindrops, like a shower of pearls, hang from branches
Under which scattered troupes of febrile insects dance.
An insolent noisy robin
Challenges every intruder,
While a tiny, ever mistrusting, Wren retreats
Into the safety of its hidden priest hole home.
Somewhere in the windless
Morning a Blackbird sings.
The vibrant saffron yellow cups of crocuses
Are painted onto the the lawn’s bright green canvas.
Moss has occupied spaces
Between the sandstone slabs.
The fresh green shoots of the Iris give little
Indication of their future azure blue beauty;
The exclamation marks
Of the flower world.
I love the spring, when everything looks brand new,
But I feel sadness too that it is so ephemeral.
So are our lives
We can’t hold on to beauty, it is bound to fade.
We should enjoy our springtime while it lasts,
All too soon it’s over, and
Autumn leaves cover the ground.
I am reaping the harvest of all the deeds I’ve sown;
Both kind and hurtful have had their consequence.
Unlike the flowers that fade,
Returning good as new each year,
There is no rebirth for this creature I have grown.
My finality assured by inescapable decay.
I envy the innocence
Of the reborn flowers.
The springtime of my years is now long since gone.
I give little thought to all those dog-eared yesterdays.
I remember little of
The spring except its beauty.
I am living through the winter of my life.
No flowers will grieve for me when I am gone,
They will bloom again
To please a strangers eyes.