a poem by James Stephen Thompson, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

A Spring Steps In

A winter season has now gone so to bring,
departure of disorder and delightful scenes of spring.
Perhaps a summer doze beneath a cherry plum to some,
yet unto others their work has no doubt begun.
A dawn chorus of birdsong with such a sound so skilled,
with a sure sound, a spring with full voice does build.
Hello to the start of warmer days do arrive,
unto all landscaped gardens, scenes of colour does revive.
Coastlines or areas of countryside too,
a caution of care does find a reliable way through.
Even by aid from buzzing bees,
to wandering lambs in the scents of the breeze.
A selected time of such a spring so to bring,
a wonder or walk so to welcome it in.
Within a valley and among trees, blossoming through,
with their ornamental consequence of cherries to chew.
One of so many have their fruit to mature,
whilst out within signs of spring so galore.
Scenes of all creatures, great yet so small,
with new born lambs on their course approved to all.
Each lamb does arise upon unsteady limbs,
unto there we have it, such signs of such springs.
Both on the farms and in fields also,
across the country further scenes do now glow.
Together with a breeze blowing blossom as snow,
down to the ground where all spreads unto.
A variety of flowers on offer now in spring,
is so irresistible for a bee to so cling.
Out on the loose and in search for his nectar,
all through aid of such a gifted detector.
A search by a swerve and also a sway,
until finally through pollen finding his way.
Bright coloured blooms of developed daffodils,
or bluebell woods formed by natures sneaky skills.
So much in the early part of the new season,
the sound of the buzz having its reliable reason.
They practice and pollinate blooms of pleasant plants,
through deliverance of their divine gathered grants.
So as for seeds with their scenes to so spring,
together with the fruit that flowers do so bring.
A scene of a bee and you all do buzz off,
you’re as bad as the bosses; lay off, lay off.
The words they repeat as they spring with grief,
Why are they so frightened; those of little belief?

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