Spring is Stirring

Spring is stirring, softly turning,
Liberty for luck, or learning,
Hangs a hum of humans hiving:
What means stubbornness, or striving?
Never knowing what’s out there —
Or the worth, or cost, of care.

Stars are spinning, slow and sober,
Winter won’t admit it’s over,
Can’t concur on any kenning,
Implements for implementing.
Love would never lathe, then leave us —
Grasp our lagging dreams, then grieve us —

No. The gyros judge and jury
Haunts our halls, and bids us hurry.
Yet we feel it: yen and yearning,
Soul to sky, and rest returning:
While away awash in whirring,
Stars spin on, and Spring
Is stirring

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Spring is Stirring”

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