O spring, thy gentle current fills the air,
Thy breezes sting no more but whisper fair;
The birdsong wakes the dawn and holds the hour,
As daylight opens outwards like a flower.
The winter’s weeping wetland starts to yield,
And boots walk freely on the drying field.

I stretch my legs across the open grass,
Where newborn lambs against their mothers pass;
Just past the village edge, the pathways run
Beneath the trees, made taller by the sun.
A sudden chill strikes lightly on my brow,
Far sweeter than the heat of summer’s vow.

Yet seasons fade, despite their earthly light;
My heart is anchored in the Triune sight,
In Him whose flesh was freely given for all,
To lift this vast creation from the fall.
Like Francis, let me sing the earth’s sweet hymn,
And glimpse eternal hope around the field’s green rim.

A Note to the Reader

If these verses have resonated with you, please do get in touch. I maintain an extensive archive for readership. I would be delighted to share more with you.