This Year

THIS year’s breezes gently toss

T

A fern uncurling from the moss;

Arbutus trailing lengths along;

Brown thrush thrilling with his song.

The grosbeak sings a song of cheer,

“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

The dandelions are here again

Amongst the grass like golden rain.

A hawthorn raining petals white,

Whilst dripping with the dews of night.

A mocker’s notes, round, sweet and clear.

“Ain’t” things beautiful this year?

So thankful that old winter’s gone

Fond hearts beat a tender song.

The meadow lark in circles high,

Sings songs of faith against the sky.

While in my heart I greatly fear,

Things are too beautiful this year.

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