19/03/2026
πΌ The Edges of Spring πΌ
Earth sheds her grey shawl at the edges of spring;
Still early, she shivers, and shivering still
She steps through the meadow; her feet start to
sing
To the wildflowers waiting for winterβs long chill
To yield to the warmth Father Sun soon will bring.
Treewards rise her memoried scents in the spark of spring;
Earthwards bend bare wintry branches like frost-bitten limbs;
Sunwards she stretches, drawing down his pale rays
To kiss green leaves upon brown trees and daisies in the glade.
Day gathering pace, Earthβs voice timeless and sweet
Is the blackbird, the song-thrush, each dancing a tune
To the wild creatures waking now, eager to greet
The east-rising sea -surge around Lady Moon
As she sails to nightβs harbour, her western sky-seat,
The pulse of the earth is the Motherβs heartbeat.
πΌπΌπΌ
(Nell de Jorge, March 2019)