Spring Cometh

Come with me to another spring
Let's run towards the sun
Push away all thoughts of winter
A new season is begun.

Green fields and singing birds
Are there beyond the town 
A peaceful place in which to view
Natures brand new season's gown.

With the coming of this time
Our soul rises with the light
Optimism in our mood begins
And the negatives all take flight.

Look no more behind you 
Push down sad thoughts and dread 
Come with me towards the spring 
And embrace good times ahead

One Bluebell

A single bluebell was there
On a littered, barren bank
On a run-down housing development
Cheerless, soulless, rank.

I was passing in my car
When sunlight caught the blue
Of the solitary flower
Gamely pushing through.

Now - will it die or will it prosper?
Can it survive and return next year?
Will other flowers join it?
And deliver us yet more cheer.

This nose thumbing effort by nature
tells us fools rushing by
That though the surroundings be daunting
You can stand out if you try.

New Beginnings

Here at last in my new garden shed
Dishwasher loaded and Labrador fed
I sit and await creative thought
But comes there nothing – zilch! Nought.

It’s not supposed to be like this
Words should flow in my new found bliss
I sit, think, take another sip of tea
Still no inspiration comes to me.

I try something tested by poets before
Like the joy of opening nature’s door
And infected by the beauty on display
Words start flowing – I’ve something to say.

The grass is dew wet and happy birds sing
In warm sun as if it were spring
Flowers nod in the zephyr breeze
Ripe apples falling where they please.

This is more like it, words start to flow
It becomes clear which way to go
New thoughts arrive now, my brain is fed
By the magical ambience of my new garden shed.

A Gale in the Park

It stood for years, but now it is dead,
Lying over on one enormous side. 
Branches spread out like lifeless arms
There's nowhere now for Squirrels to hide.  

Dark grey is the trunk that lies there
With bright white flesh exposed like a sore
The moss green of the north facing bark
Is contrasted by the red rot of the core.

A rogue wind in the dark killed this tree.
A steady blow would only have it bent.
It withstood strong blows for years before,
But this time a Hurricane was sent.

Autumn had not yet collected its dues
For the leaves were still attached.
Nature should have let them fall as usual
Before it had the Tree dispatched.