A poet dreams of the beauty that Spring lends

to the happiness of the heart, of sunken meadow

covered in wet, early morning dew and the sturdy Oak

stretching out beyond the low laying damp mist

that grips tightly to the birds sodden searching for respite

in the glow of the shadow haunted Sun

and smiles.

The poet, like the farmer, blissfully trades his future stock

for one roll in Summer’s golden lawn, the stray piece of straw

acting as inspiration for the longing of everlasting