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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