The Springtime Of The Soul. Poem by Patrick William Kavanagh

Sunlight, shining on the still bare trees, warms my mind as slowly I awake,
Winter's, slow and sleepy, journey, - almost at an end for one more year.
Maybe with the dawning of the Spring, there'll be and end to all our foolish fears,
and in the Spring-times busy bustle, we won't have the time for sadness or for tears.

Amongst the bare brown fields, still edged with white, I see the first green shoots appear,
The snow-white clouds move quickly past the Sun, lest they should block His light,
The raucous call of sparrows in the garden fills my morbid soul with new delight,
and I Awaken with the spring, a lesser wakening, perhaps, but still a further step into the light.

Each year I find it tougher to confront the winters icy bite upon my face and hands.
Each Spring appears, to find me longing more and more for all the comfort of the warmth and light.
Each day flies by, and soon the Summer will appear in all its might,
and one more stage upon my journey will eased by summers cheerful days and gentle nights.

Lincolnshire
13/03/13