Early Spring Poem by Adrian Flett

Sages worry, they monitor their gauges
'This is the driest Spring in ages, '
they say, they fret and fuss.
'What will become of us,
if it doesn't rain? '
But it does again, and again.
Spiders crawl from underemployed gauges,
now rain-filled to reward attendant sages.


Leaves cast six months ago
lie rotting now, down below.
Those in trees not yet loosed,
but no longer of further use
are ruthlessly thrust aside,
left to wither now and die.
Spring's growth-thrust of green
all around us seen.


Grass asserts with each blade
arrogant opposition to efforts made
by ardent gardeners to suppress
its buoyant assertiveness.
Man's desire to control emerges
and results in neatly clipped verges.
Sacrificed are dandelion, lamb's tongue
and clover, soon to flower, if left alone.


Incurved bills probe the grass
for subterranean fodder as Hadedahs pass.
Trees glisten in sunlight, display their skirts
of new green leaves, a reason to flirt.
The robin still seeks cheese each day
but his nursery duties cause delay.
Dogs behind fences are eager to run
I tell them, 'Spring has indeed begun.'