Spring Poem by Mary Champion

SPRING



With hazel twig in hand,
Dad walks across the land.
Grasped firmly on each side -
slight tension is applied.

In steady, measured pace
he searches for a trace.
The twitch and then the drag
suggest that he's on track.

The pull is stronger now,
some force that moves the bough.
Wherever water flows,
the dowser's body knows.

The sceptic speaks their doubt,
but prithee, hear me out,
I've held his hands to share
the power surge that's there.

And when they've dug the well
I've watched that silver swell
and heard the water sing
when they release the spring.