Hello Spring

A few days of warm sunshine, and everything is unfolding from a long winter's sleep.

Fingers crossed Mother Nature is not playing a joke.

 

 

Were I to live a thousand years,

 I still would know that flaming thrill,

That rush of joy when first appears

 —the golden daffodil.

A thousand times my heart would sing

When purple irises unfold;

Or when forsythia's branches bring

Their dazzling showers of gold.

I could not see an almond tree

With branches all a rosy glow

But that a tide of ecstasy

Would through my being flow

Were I to see, a thousand times,

Blue scilla bells amid green grass,

I know I'd hear their fairy chimes

As I would pass.

Were I to live a thousand years

I'd never watch the nesting birds

Except through eyes bedimmed with tears,

My tongue bereft of words.

Were I to weave ten thousand lays,

Knew I a thousand songs to sing,

I still would lack the power to praise

—the miracle of Spring.

Silver Lining ~Wilhelmina Sitch 1888

 

Optimism

Lately the world seems to be at all Odds and Sods.
Earthquakes, tsunamis, uprisings, wars, unemployment, it's hard to watch the evening news and not be affected by all the suffering and hardships.

I feel the need to escape and recharge my mental batteries, luckily with the click of a mouse, I find myself knee-deep in a field of English Bluebells, gloriously waving around in the warmth of a Spring day. A "happy place."



Were I to live a thousand years
I still would know that flaming thrill,
That rush of joy when first appears —the golden daffodil.

A thousand times my heart would sing
When purple irises unfold;
Or when forsythia's branches bring
Their dazzling showers of gold.

I could not see an almond tree
With branches all a rosy glow
But that a tide of ecstasy
would through my being flow.

Were I to see, a thousand times,
Blue scilla bells amid green grass,
I know I'd hear their fairy chimes
As I would pass.

Were I to live a thousand years
I'd never watch the nesting birds
Except through eyes bedimmed with tears,
My tongue bereft of words.

Were I to weave ten thousand lays,
Knew I a thousand songs to sing,
I still would lack the power to praise
—the miracle of Spring.

Silver Lining ~Wilhelmina Sitch 1888-1936