Spring's Rebirth
This is the time of year being that everything is awakening – once again-
Flowers are blooming everywhere-
Crocuses, daffodils and Cherry blossoms- and
Dogwood, both white and pink
Adorn nature’s window-
The time it is when my father passed away-
And many years ago I became a woman
At the beginning of spring’s equinox-
When everything is becoming
Emerald green and supple as every leaf unfolds on every tree-
I have found bluebirds’ nests upon branches while
Monarch butterflies gently flutter about grasses and perch upon dandelion’s petals-
For many this is the time of year
Tears and wrathfulness have been left behind and
At dawn birds sing a chorus to welcome a new day-
I would laugh if I had no care and
Sing if a tune would only awaken my spirit although
My soul once did a graveyard dance as
My father’s stone brought back multitudes of memories and
I see the ocean though only in my thoughts and recall
That my mother’s ashes were scattered at sea-
It has been nearly twenty years since we were a family-
Tears were hardly shed over the loss only because
In my family’s eyes I could do no right-
As lovely and fragrant as my father’s rose garden could be,
It is long gone and just as
Spring is a time of rebirth for trees, flowers and
A time for celebration-
Travels, longer days and evening thunderstorms-
For me and the essence of my existence this is a time
Long walks in the woods and early morning awakening-
Having abandoned sadness of past memories,
Freedom from being unfairly misunderstood-
And growth within myself in many ways-
Spring is a time for rebirth for trees, flowers and
Creeks are seemingly overflowing as I can hear the gentle breeze
Rustling the newborn leaves upon every tree-
Spring rains shall wash away and drown past remembrances as
I too- in spirit, mind and soul have also been reborn-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Reminiscence
A rose reminiscent of my father's garden
I found growing by a pathway outside my home- as well as
Another just lying upon the sidewalk-
I collected them and brought them home and
Placed them in a vase my mother always loved.
My mother and father always loved the springtime and
On this rainy Saturday afternoon,
I find it hard to believe they have been gone for twenty years.
My mother's spirit was as delicate as the petals on these roses-
My father's, as strong as their thorny stems that upheld them and
My own spirit, by them, always misunderstood.
Flowers are blossoming everywhere-
Daffodils and wild violets growing every place I look and
Cherry blossoms and dogwood seemly decorating the trees-
Bring back the fonder memories of my mother and my father-while
The rain and the sky so gray and overcast
Bring back memories of the sadness of being misunderstood.
It has been nearly forty years that
I had made my own special world in which to live and
In this world flowers grew not only just in the springtime months-
But all year around and in every place.
The real world was then, to me, a place I never lived in or comprehended, and
As long as I kept my mind alive inside the world of my imagination-
At that time, I believed that I had not a thing to fear.
Roses reminiscent of my father's garden,
Placed in the vase my mother so loved-
Upon this rainy Saturday day in March, evokes a few tears in my eyes and
Just for the moment I think of the laughter and good times we had together-
These thoughts are interrupted by memories of all of the anger, sadness,
Mistrust and disbelief that now overshadow memories of
These few pleasurable moments we not so often shared, and
I take these roses from the vase that sits alone upon the table,
Open my picture window and throw them to the rain, and
As my tears cease to fall and dry away- I say goodbye to all unhappy memories-and
As thoughts of my self-made world disappear,
I am thankful that I have a life in this world here alive, and while
I watch the rose petals flutter about in a gentle spring like breeze-
I leave thoughts of discontented past times behind me and
I realize that I have just been set free.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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My Father's Garden
I remember my father as being a warm person-
A strong man in many ways always working hard so that
My mother and I could have the very best-
He passed so many years ago but
I can still hear his laughter, and recall his gentleness-
As he was always there for me-
I still can see him working in his garden
At the time we lived close to the shores of Carmel –
I can still hear the leaves upon the trees rustling in the wind,
And the peaceful rocking of the ocean waves
Soothing me as they were lapping upon the shore close by-
I will never forget the joy the flowers he had planted
Brought to him, my mother and I,
As he seemed to be lost inside a world of his own,
Transforming a yard where at one time only high grasses grew
Into a kingdom of color and beauty for everyone to perceive-
I shall never forget the rose bushes-
Yellow, pink and red blossoms in their colorful hues
Enlightening to everyone’s eyes, as they were, and fragrant as well,
In all of their delicacy;
My father passed years ago- - a terminal illness snatched away
This wonderful being – tears still come to my eyes in past memories- as
I cannot comprehend that if a god exists-
How could he have snatched life away so quickly from
A person who had such a zest for life?
I shall never forget the moment he died, how my uncle
Sat upon a chair in the bathroom with his head in his hands weeping
When my father fell to the floor at his death-
Although he has parted from this world forever, fond memories continue-
People always die but flowers keep growing and live on.
Yesterday I cut a pink rose from a bush in the yard and
Placed it in a small vase upon the end table by my bed side and
As I drifted off to sleep this delicate and lovely flower carried me
Into the world of my fantasies- where my father is still with me always, and
I still feel his loving arms embracing me; I can still hear the rustling of
Leaves upon the trees outside, and I still hear the waves lapping upon the shore
And even though in flesh he is gone-
Departed from this world, he has left valuable reminiscences for me to treasure;
Whenever I stand in his garden I can still feel his presence, as in my
Heart and spirit, he shall always be very much alive….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Beautiful Azalea
The beautiful azalea is a woody shrub that never grows into a tree
But the pink flowers on the azalea are so beautiful to see
In the cool to warm days of October when Spring is in the air
And beautiful Mother Nature flowers on her green cloak wear,
How lovely the azalea in the cool shade of the trees
In her mass of pinkish flowers gently stirring in the breeze
Such a thing of natural beauty for to beautify the Spring
In the nice days of October when the nesting song birds sing,
In her tiny leaves of light green and her mass of bright pink flowers
The azalea she is blooming in the sunshine and Spring showers
But time it keeps on ticking and the years go quickly by
And how many more Octobers will i live for to enjoy?
The sight of the beautiful azalea in her pink flowers in the shade
A thing of such rare beauty by Nature only made.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
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Spring In Victoria
The bottlebrushes laden with crimson flowers
And there is warmth in the October breeze
And with her Spring has brought her blooms and greenery
And birds are singing on the sunlit trees.
Spring in Victoria my favourite time of year
The birds build their nests and raise their families
The weather not too cool or not too warm
A high today of 17 degrees.
The distinct call sounds of the magpie lark
And the Indian mynah sings his scratchy song
Some birds are easy to identify
And by their voices you never get them wrong.
Spring in Victoria is a time of bloom
And sun shines brightly after the brief showers
The fruit trees cloaked in blossoms of pale pink
And gardens look resplendent in their flowers.
My favourite season is always the spring
And spring in Victoria is now in her prime
The wild birds sing and gardens are in bloom
But Nature's beauty fades with the passage of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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As The Spring Walks
the spring walks to the trees
to the flowers
to the leaves
the leaves turn to flowers
flowers to whites
slowly and sreadı ly
the restaurants disperse themselves to the streets
even the multi colored gaRDENS
opening to the children
people throw themselves to the pavements
the ugly
yhe good
the best and th dı rty
all together
all of them are walking in the spring
at one moment
hopeful
hopeless
living is drawing from their skirts
as he wishes
on the lips
a little smiles
bitter or ticklı ng
may be a piece of
living remnants
even if he does not want
a littler boy treads to the spring
treads smalls to the spring
his small shoes
caressing the spring
they were saying that
the spring will never come this year
but it came at last
nearer and nearer
closer and closer
use it as you wish
fry it in oven
or soak it with the sea
when the days become wrmer
the birds are happier
turning the pidgeons in the air
crowing the crown harder
there is the magpie
gone mad as ifs
gone crazy or insane
the spring walks to the trees
blossoms
as a turntable the time
dropping leaves in winter
, blossoming in summer
the litle girls playing balls
in the gardens
childish
ı know
the flowers must have bloomed
in my mother's grave wildish
theyt need even a little prayer
father is not known where
as he wanted there
may be that is the best for remembering
did not ı lost my sister in may
i do not even remember
slowly passes time
we are destined to live
as long as we live
blind or half lame
even if we scare
pray or not pray
our end is always in black soil
but the truth is covered with a wall
and one day
we will pass over
and eternalkly live there
fire it drops where
trouble disturbs us
time passing by
one day
we will say to all of you
and the spring googd bye
my rebellingf time has passed
long ago
but ı wonder
from time to time
when will the spring to me
will ever come
poem by Metin Sahin
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A Morning In Late June
In the cold depths of Winter the grey butcherbird sing
And only nine weeks or thereabouts till the first breath of Spring
Five days ago of daylight hours the year's shortest day
And time it keeps ticking and ticking away.
The drake in the pond performs his courtship display
As he swims by his mate he nods his head her way
And he quacks to tell others she belongs to me
He will be the father of her family.
The buds on the camellias beginning to sprout
In the coldest of Winter their blooms will be out
They will be cloaked in flowers by the end of July
When the chill winds of Winter blow across the sky.
A morning in late June a chill in the breeze
And the rainbow lorikeets chirp on the flowering gum trees
As with their tongues they sip nectar from the pink gum flowers
Amongst leaves rather wet from recent heavy showers.
The sky clouded over and a chill in the wind
And the first month of Winter is close to an end
And old father time he keeps ticking away
And Spring is approaching with each passing day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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August The Thirtieth
The sky overcast the rain comes down in drizzle August the thirtieth the date of today
This time tomorrow yes this time tomorrow Spring will be just a few hours away
Some birds are nest building others on their eggs sitting male magpie is piping on the stringybark tree
At this time of year he attacks without warning even humans who venture near his territory.
The clock on the Winter is ticking and ticking time on anyone or anything does not wait
Fragile pink blossoms on the fruit trees in the garden such things of beauty that Nature create
Spring brings her youth to this Southern Country spreading her greenery everywhere she goes
Wildflowers by the creek are coming to bloom now pink on the buds amongst the thorns of the rose
August the thirtieth the Winter is dying Spring is a beautiful time of the year
White flowers in clusters amongst the pittosporums the flute of the butcherbird pleasant to hear
Everyday nearer to bloom and to sunshine the year one might say fast aproaching it's prime
Winter is dying the year's coldest Season Spring brings her green with her fresh and warm clime.
August the thirtieth the second last day of the Winter rain fall in drizzle from an overcast sky
Pink flowers are fading upon the camellias blooms of the Winter in early Spring die
The Goddess of Spring she is quickly approaching over the cliffs of the southern bay
On this time tomorrow from this Southern Country she will be only a few hours away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Joy Of Spring
The sky above is shinning blue today,
And sun beams are playfully kissing the earth,
Flowers rise proud its stalks and tell us their stories,
A sleeping nature getting back to life in its glorious way.
The peace of grass rustling in the wind,
Is melting with the twitter of happy birds in trees,
Spring time has come to us again,
A spectacular view my eyes enjoy today.
Trees turn green are budding as life rebirth,
The exuberance of orange, blue, purple, yellow came,
And warm my heart in misterious ways,
With such variety of colours this spring make bold my soul in grace.
New beginnings in our lives have start,
Brought by the refreshment of a sunny march day,
I will never forget what spring time means,
Joy of spring took my breath away again.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Darkness Awakens Into Spring
Dreary cold Days are gone
Awesome how the trees begin budding
Ravishing is the beauty the
Easter lilies along the fences
Caddy dids and crickets begin
There Sweet Song as the
Darkness awakens into Spring
Now the birds are beginning to
build there nest high in the trees
Preparing for there young
Every now and then you can hear a
Frogs Croak and a big ribit
From time to time sweet smell of
spring is in the air as the
Darkness awakens into Spring
Angelic is the spring air
Wonderful how the tree and flowers
Awaken to the suns beautiful light
As I am sitting here in my window
I watch as a little family of Cardinals
begin to make the trees in my
Back yard there home every year
They return here to build their
nest for their young
As the Darkness Awakens Into Spring
By Melissia Ann Senter
poem by Melissia Ann Senter
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I Owe A Debt To Spring II
Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
She brought me wild flowers and
Hardy daffodils,
Beautiful, velvet, green carpeted hills.
She brought the mist of April showers,
With the promised bloom of May flowers.
Birds came back to sin,
Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
I see the colors of a rainbow dancing
Across the sky,
Spring came in with a lullaby.
I owe a debt to spring for the love
You bring to me, my love, to me!
I shall plant moss roses, dear spring,
To dance at your feet,
Spring time is the best time for nature's
bouquet of happiness complete...
O, I owe a debt to spring, for you, my love,
For you!
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
poem by Dorothy Holmes
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Not Everyone Looks Forward To Spring
Although it is a time of bloom and blossom
When wild birds build their nests and breed and sing
It also is a time of heavy pollen
And not everybody looks forward to the Spring.
The garden in full bloom is looking lovely
And blossoms on the bushes and the trees
But pollen by the warm breeze is carried
And you hear some people sniffle, cough and sneeze.
The beauty of Spring on the artist's canvas
And Spring inspire the lyric poet to rhyme
But all of those who have an allergy to pollen
Will tell you that Spring is not their favourite time.
Not every one yearns for the warm weather
Or for the scents of blossom, rose and flower
You cannot enjoy the beauty of a sunlit garden
If you cough and sneeze one hundred times an hour.
It is a time of greenery and beauty
When wild birds build their nests and breed and sing
And Mother Nature she is at her loveliest
But not everyone looks forward to the Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
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Singing Spring Time
Spring time is the only time
when birds sing
spring time is the time
when boys find the girls of their dreams
it is that happy time of year
when lovers find each other
after years of waiting
happiness arouses, joy comes, sadness leaves
so next time it's spring, SING!
poem by Megan Loney
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Early Spring
Spring seems to have come early this year- I have always welcomed blossoming flowers,
Longer days and the fresh warm air outdoors,
Perhaps the early timing exacerbated the fear, and is reminiscent of the
Time when my life took a turn towards terror and misery-
I saw a daffodil yesterday in full bloom- yet in the first week of February,
On that day, as in extreme frequency, my thinking was out of touch.
Today my heart is screaming, desperate for some peace and comfort,
While birds are singing outside as a gentle breeze blows as in a whisper,
Even trees are budding while everyone is laughing, although
My spirit is weeping as rage sears my gut, terrified of the world surrounding-
The pain of falling upon the hard ground this morning does not hurt me as much as
The agony I feel that emanates from all of the people that wish me harm-
Inside the world of my thoughts, everyone who is laughing is laughing at me- and
I would kill them all if I were not so afraid.
I am always shouting, though in silence at the cruel people that surround me,
No one can understand the severe pain of feeling persecuted every time that
I step outside and the inner irate confusion of
Not knowing what is real from what is not.
My heart and soul bleed anger and tears apart the person I am inside and
Even the gentle spring like breeze will not dry the tears I weep inside or outside,
I hardly know who I am anymore- the people in this world have threatened me and
As beautiful as all that surrounds me today- there is no place for me to hide.
The lone daffodil I see evokes a smile upon my face for the moment.
I would pick it and take it home with me but if I did,
It would wither and perish as has I believe my inner spirit has done,
Spring has always been my favorite time of year, although
Its arrival may be somewhat too soon, just as
I fear the death of my soul might have been premature-
I see myself as a lone flower that has blossomed in mid winter and
Is confused to be outside amongst shorter days, and barren trees,
If spring’s rain begins to fall my hope is that is shall wash away my tears and
Quench the flame that burns inside of me, then amidst longer days and that gentle breeze,
I can be as a bird, singing amongst other birds happy to be free of the rage that once
Separated me from the rest of the world as I lift my wings and fly high above the trees,
Looking down upon a world so exquisite which is no longer a threat to my existence?
poem by Claudia Krizay
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East Sakura (ft Wabi Sabi)
The East watching the new rising sun
The awakening moment for a very first day
To end the long cold days
By the most welcomed ray
For now a new beginning will start
A bless for every little thing
A new day in promising spring
The mist dissolved in the morning light
East with the sun and sound by the birds
We will witnessing many at this time
Clouds now opened a space for the blue sky
The awaiting moment has come
For many hearts to bloom again
There, look over the skyline
The birds announcing the return of 'Haru'
The old trees stand in two lines along the river
As if they watching over the new shine delight
Radiated heat strikes on the frozen surfaces
Slowly melting snow walking by windy hush
Refreshing trees with spirit wash
Flowing on the branches
Dripping the warm tears
Dropped...Fall down and leave
Drop (a sound)
Another one falls
Pristine pearl dives in a river
A miracle splash waves in circles
Liquid mirror reflects the pink shadows
Of the tree branches after few days past
O Sakura has came back at the same place
At the same season, where the spring is here
Each year, the same scenery repeats.
Only different stories everyone makes
But the lesson still same for us to pick
A short time of this quiet season visit
Small petals winged sakura over the field
Bearable without fears, remind the lands
With a same sakura song they all sing loud
'We found pain, we bleed but everybody hurts'
'But there will be a time where the door will be opened'
'To heal and to gain, from snow to green again'
'Take the chance or we never see it comes again'
'Even in a small twig after snow i shall return'
Watching them flying from this bridge
On my hand, one of them falling
Instantly immerse the rare feeling
As if with my soul it was talking
'Even there's always winter to freeze heart
Or the present of autumn to fall hopes
Nothing to afraid about this hardness
That is a nature of life we cant avoid
Hold it tight, believe for one time
We will find a way out and win
If we know how to take the chances'
I walked away and smile
Thinking for the meaning
Of what i have learned
A lesson In a new day
taught by sakura
*Haru= Spring in Japanese
poem by Unwritten Soul
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My Playmate
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
The blossoms drifted at our feet,
The orchard birds sang clear;
The sweetest and the saddest day
It seemed of all the year.
For, more to me than birds or flowers,
My playmate left her home,
And took with her the laughing spring,
The music and the bloom.
She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
She laid her hand in mine
What more could ask the bashful boy
Who fed her father's kine?
She left us in the bloom of May
The constant years told o'er
Their seasons with as sweet May morns,
But she came back no more.
I walk, with noiseless feet, the round
Of uneventful years;
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
And reap the autumn ears.
She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow;
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.
There haply with her jewelled hands
She smooths her silken gown,-
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.
The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make sweet
The woods of Follymill.
The lilies blossom in the pond,
The bird builds in the tree,
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill
The slow song of the sea.
I wonder if she thinks of them,
And how the old time seems,-
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood
Are sounding in her dreams.
I see her face, I hear her voice;
Does she remember mine?
And what to her is now the boy
Who fed her father's kine?
What cares she that the orioles build
For other eyes than ours,-
That other hands with nuts are filled,
And other laps with flowers?
O playmate in the golden time!
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet,
The old trees o'er it lean.
The winds so sweet with birch and fern
A sweeter memory blow;
And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.
And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,-
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself and thee!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Something About The Girl Called Spring (Sonnet Corona)
I
Just after winter you are back enchanting
with unfolding blossoms on hot sunny days
playing your roles in all your beautiful ways
as if every day is a grand setting
with colours and smells alluring, inviting
man, animals and insects to stray
in orchards, gardens and in the veldt to play
wherever you may be wandering
while insects and birds sing sweet melodies,
even the breeze is charming
in the season that you bequeath
that becomes a time of sweet memories
while everywhere life is swarming;
flowers are as fragrant as your breath.
II
Flowers are as fragrant as your breath
and outside the sun does shine
where flowers and insects ephemeral awaits death
living just as small specs of the will divine.
There are tales about flowers and butterflies that you tell,
about all the minute things, before the first shadows fall
but you have to mention the Creator as well
who fathered everything, created all.
His gardens fill the earth in sheer exuberance
while in summer and spring, in daylight hours
bees, butterflies and birds dance
around the fragrant flowers
in their winged flight,
from early twilight.
III
From early twilight
you are everywhere sent
until the dark night
for the whole world’s enjoyment
and flowering fair
you dance along
without a moment to spare
singing a cheerful song
as a seasonal creature being sweet,
dressed very serene
dancing with fairly like feet
as the essence of the productive machine
and nature everywhere tells,
spring is awaking in smells.
IV
Spring is awaking in smells
with birds singing
rising from the valleys and dells,
sounding in joy about the beauty she is bringing
even every bird, deer and bee,
as the blessings have come
as a time of tranquillity to some
until all of nature is happy and free
when love is finally finding its home
and spring is especially dear to me,
in the air above there’s a vibrant hue
as if it’s a living kind of blue
specked with flocks of birds in their flight;
spring is dressed in white.
V
Spring is dressed in white,
dressed for her wedding day,
when she blesses wherever her flowers stray
in celebration in every day and night
while she dances from early morning light
inviting all her guests, the birds and bees to play,
while she lingers everything is gay
in colours jubilant and bright
with butterflies filling the air,
humming yellow and black bees,
even joined by flying birds that in joy sing
roaming among the almond, peach and pear,
flying to and fro from the blue gum trees
in the unfolding of spring.
VI
In the unfolding of spring
it came to my mind
the words, the deeds and every thing,
of the troublesome kind
that man does to his fellow human beings
as if he is inclined
to act only to his own interest without any feelings,
as if so designed
but around me the new awakenings
are totally unrestrained
in days and evenings
with beauty that is gained
while everywhere flowers are rising,
I long for an eternal spring’s blessing.
VII
I long for an eternal spring’s blessing
as if the Godly plan
in a place where everything is living,
is still in effect for man,
where the songs of birds through the hubbub ring
as if the singing birds are right here
bringing pleasure to everything
making existing so sweet and sincere,
as if from the very beginning
the Lord God was near,
even before human beings were sinning
when these joyous songs fall on the ear:
.
with all of the love that God is granting,
just after winter you are back enchanting.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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