Spring on the bank of Buttsbury Brook

 Spring on the bank of Buttsbury Brook 

By Christopher Mathews

The stream is swollen ripe with rain, that feeds the meadow and the plane,

Suckles the trees with fertile wine, and feeds the myriads that dine, on tender shoots of verdant green, spring may soon be seen.

Gentle rain beats softly down, on the dry and frozen ground, and so the earth begins to yearn in winter’s night for spring’s return,

spring must come at last.

The air is laden warm and sweet to wake the moles from winter sleep, to stir the worm beneath the ground to seek the fresh spring’s vibrant sound,

Spring is coming fast

It nourishes the wild and fertile soil, as all the creatures begin their toil,

urgent now no time to lose find a mate and choose. find a home, make a nest no time to take a rest,

spring shall come at last.

The earth once captive to winter's grasp, begins to warm by sun at last, and so to wake the sleeping land from its slumber, unseen by man.

The beetle and the bee begin to stir inside their secret tomb, the frozen soil begins to yield to the warming sun across the field.

spring will come at last.

No time to lose too much to do, to build the hive and tend the brood, to seek the nectar in the flower, this is her appointed hour.

Spring has come at last

The snowcapped hills release their store of living water on the poor. For thirsty land, a new fresh spring is now at last at hand.

But spring will never last

 

© Christopher Mathews, April 2025