THE FOUR SEASONS.
Thought for the season by The Bard:
‘When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.’
Perverse Spring, always changing
Like a moody teenager, by the hour,
Now maverick sunshine, now passing shower.
Full moon to crescent waning,
Last month’s blossom trees a cherry-pink riot,
This month’s are snow drifts of transient white.
A nest has fallen to the ground.
Though so cunningly made it could not withstand
The sudden Spring storm that brought it down
From its niche in a tall pine.
See how meticulously its maker has woven
Each separate blade of grass in and out, each
Blade brought in by air and stitched together
With cob-web by the small beak, the nest
Then shaped by the bird’s round breast and
Inlaid with its feathered down. Already
Ants are investigating the broken
Egg-shells scattered on the ground.
… and Spring is potent.
Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. Geoffrey Chaucer.
‘Whan that April with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which virtu engendred is the flour;
When Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heath
The tender croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smalle fowles maken melodye
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
So priketh hem nature in hir corages;
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondrey londes …’
… and pagan.
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch snd jump-rope and
Summer comes next …