Tentatively treads the timid spring,
At the angry end of winter.
Not sure quite how much yet to bring,
Its cabal of cold to splinter.

Though sullen yet and misty-eyed,
The season's sleepy head.
Makes good what we have been denied,
Whilst the world was in its bed.

And for lengthening hours of warmth and light,
No longer need we yearn.
Long days defer to shorter night,
And life responds in turn.

Optimism and hope abound,
And hearts and minds exalt.
Sun and showers quench fertile ground,
And naught its pace can halt.

Still and patient dormant seed,
Now bursts for breath to catch.
Their colour to vibrant insects plead,
To pollinate their patch.

Great gust-blown cumulus clouds display,
Their many moods and mounds.
Swift slinking shadows with hillsides play,
Where the new lamb bolts and bounds.

And now the bluebells carpet woods,
And tractors toil their fields.
New shipment of the season's goods,
An ideal vision yields.

Sunny mornings; evening walks,
A breeze of warmth and scent.
Flower shows and garden talks,
The seasonal event.

Why winter hollows out the soul,
With spring makes reason clear.
When minded of nature's kind parole.
To delight us every year.