Springtime Heart

Springtime Heart It’s time to bid farewell to March When snowdrops start to show Above the ground, in patches white, Much like the melting snow. Transition now is easy, And energy is high, As earth absorbs the sun’s bright rays That line the azure sky. It’s time to welcome April When surging streamlets flow Beside a budding woodlot, Where downy trumpets blow A welcome woodnote to the world, That never fails to start A rush of expectations Within the springtime heart. It’s time at last to scan blue skies When hawthorns bloom in May And scrutinize each fleecy cloud Adrift o’er Georgian Bay. It’s time to catch a breeze-blown kiss The playful winds impart – To those who sip from Nature’s cup To warm the springtime heart. Retirement Little cat dozing, half asleep in the sun, Dreaming perhaps of yesteryear fun When you, the great hunter, could easily outrun Any creature invading your space. Now the birds are hovering just overhead, They don’t know if you’re faking or if you are dead; But under your nose their fledglings are fed, While a chipmunk stares at your face. I weep at the state of your apathy there, No longer to stalk a mouse or a hare; Yet, sad as I feel, you don’t seem to care— You’ve grown weary and tired of the chase. Dream on, little cat, comatose in the sun, There is no need to worry, your life’s work is done. Your worth is secured; your trophies hard won; You’re allowed to retire with an old hunter’s grace. CITY STREETS (Owen Sound, 1977) The city streets are wet and grey, And leaves in sodden bunches lay Where brisk winds tossed them yesterday; Now summer is over. People hustle and bustle by, Collars turned to an overcast sky. There’s a sombre tone one cannot deny And quiet resignation. Yet the lighted windows beckon me; I am drawn to the frills and finery. Here, there is music and gaiety! Ah, the shops are warm and inviting. There’s a flower shop in a nearby mall, And the Library means another call. Sweet chimes from the clock at City Hall Caution—time is quickly passing! Still there’s a bakery near the five-and-ten, And a bookstore I must browse through again. One last stroll through the park and then, I shall count the day a blessing! The park is quiet and empty now— A black squirrel scampers along a bough, His hasty actions confirm somehow That winter is fast approaching. Street lights dim as a soft mist falls, And banners hang limp between old brick walls. Alas, dear friends, my curfew calls— The day is swiftly waning. Now I must dash for my country home, Lest I face the wrath of a winter storm. And to city streets—I shall not return Until the orchards blossom!