Welcoming Spring

Now gentle spring

In on the wing,

And winter fast is waning.

Down in the bogs

The countless frogs

Their rubber necks are straining.

Slow opening buds

Will have new duds

And infant grasses creeping

While from the shell

To break the spell,

New chicks will come a-peeping.

Down in the marsh

With voices harsh

Tree-toads will chant it sadly;

While from the glen

The festive wren

Will sing it loud and gladly.

Yes, gentle spring

Is on the ring,

We hail her and we great her;

Some with a scrub,

Some with a club,

And some with tender metre.

March 5, ‘99

Courier, April 2, ‘99