Now let me taste the tones of spring, <br />The tang of birdsong, as they sing <br />In liquid lyrics; let me sink <br />To sup that succulence, and drink. <br /> <br />Now let me hear the hum of flowers, <br />The trumpet tunes, in country bowers, <br />Of daffodils. As bluebells ring, <br />They bid me sense the sounds of spring. <br /> <br />Now let me scent sweet sunrise, bright <br />And orange in the morning's light, <br />Sniff honeysuckle of the day <br />And lemon-smelling sunbeam's ray. <br /> <br />Now let me see dawn turn to noon <br />As passing hours depart too soon; <br />They look like leaves curled up in bud <br />Since autumn dropped down in the wood. <br /> <br />Now let me grasp fresh air, and touch <br />New life emerging from the clutch <br />Of winter, where it slept so long. <br />I want to handle springtime's song. <br /> <br />And as my senses all are roused <br />By nature which, through winter, drowsed, <br />I feel and smell and touch and hear <br />And see the newness that is near.<br /><br />C Richard Miles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-sense-of-spring/
