adventures in dysthymia

Monday, January 21, 2013

Spring Cleaning, a poem

Spring Cleaning

There is too much grass, too many
frogs and bugs and strands of weed
in the spring. It is a place
of life and growth and, sometimes, both
become a bit too exuberant.

This is my spring cleaning, whatever
the season, to scoop to a clean sand
bottom where I can fill my pails
with the clear cold water seeping
up through layers of sandstone and time.

The tadpoles will return but they
seek cover further down, now, where
the spring-born stream flows between
grassy, overhanging banks,
to find the creek and then away.

As I, too, carry away my share,
begrudged by neither Nature nor frogs.
There will be other days I make
my visit, bucket in either hand.
There will be other spring cleanings.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

Nothing very ambitious, but a bit of a memory from when I was a boy.

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