The Inheritors Poem by Bryan Sefton

Spring is more flush now. Nature more at ease
Mornings grey cast has touches of blue
The skies more promising white than threatening dark
And the air sings of things to come. The few
Touches of winters ravages are pushed aside
As shoots pushing out new fingers, test the air
Cautious lest winter, looking back, return full blown
Cataracts now where last year's deficiency scare
Tickled rocks that most of that year stayed dry
Bare trees begin to show green buds
That short time past stood stark against grim sky

In the fields the carrion crows course diatribe
Sends klaxon calls of warning out to those
Who try to gate-crash them and steal a bite
From the gruesome harvest only winter sows
All life exults at being here
Where others of their kind fell down to die
Feels new hope pulsating through the veins
As warming sun turns greater in the sky
Survivors rising battle worn and weary
Descendents to take their rightful place
The inheritors to claim their legacy
A view of open sky. A bit of space

Where blue bells come to bow and nod
And wave their heads in silent chatter
Neath trees unfolding parcelled leaves
As new life flickers in the water
Buds in the hedge-rows swell and burst
And come fuition, fill the larder
For those who hunger here to feed and fill
And those who would to hide in cover
How this female of the seasons
Spreads her dresses fresh with finest sheens
Opens up the buds of flower and fauna
Spreads them wide the better to be seen
Stretches up in welcome to the sunshine
Gives herself entirely to the warm
Knowing that the earth is set to happen
Certain that the sky is soon to swarm