New Springtime

I smell the springtime, I smell the green earth,
brighter and cleaner than the brown earth of winter.
Already viridian shoots are pushing aside
the fallen leaves blackened with damp and frosts.
In the woodland path the alabaster snowdrops
are blazoning their pristine flower heads
beneath branches already venturing to put out leaf buds.

Amber and purple and white light shine through
bare branches like stained glass windows in the sky,
the sunset is later each day, the hours till dusk
lengthen and stretch out, waking the land from sleep.

I remember a springtime, when young, waking
from the long hibernation of winter’s deep cold,
with warmth returning I went looking for love,
not knowing, in my foolishness, it was only the season
beating in my blood, and love would not last till summer.
Looking back, I sometimes long for that vernal madness,
that crying of the flesh, that longing in the heart,
The rapture, the agony, of buds bursting into leaf,
the whole green Earth singing and shouting in my head.


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