March Lambs

I found myself running an unexpected errand today to the big city of Nashville.
It's a bustling, noisy city, full of all that cities have to offer, and the ever present feel of Country Music.

The home of President Andrew Jackson lies within view along my route, the fields are green with new growth, and the surrounding farms are home to flocks of new Spring lambs.
Is there anything sweeter, than a field of Spring lambs prancing about their mothers.

Young Lambs
The spring is coming by a many signs;
The trays are up, the hedges broken down
That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines
Like some old antique fragment weathered brown.
And where suns peep, in every sheltered place,
The little early buttercups unfold
A glittering star or two - till many trace
The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold.
And then a little lamb bolts up behind
The hill, and wags his tail to meet the yoe;
And then another, sheltered from the wind,
Lies all his length as dead - and lets me go
Close by, and never stirs, but basking lies,
With legs stretched out as though he could not rise.

~John Clare