Listen! There you hear it, the labouring of the first harrows;
Once again in the cautious calm
Of the powerful onset of Spring
Comes that measured sound from men. What is coming
Seems to you un-tasted. That which has come
So often before seems now to approach
Like a new thing. Always hoped for,
You never received it. It received you.
Even the oak leaves which survived the winter
Appear in the evening in a future shade of brown.
Sometimes the breezes show a sign to one another.
The bushes are black. And still in the floodplain,
Heaps of manure lie as the essence of black.
Every hour which goes by becomes more youthful.
© Robert Temple 2010. Website designed by Jonathan Greet