Something In The Air by Jerome Betts

Something In The Air

How soon it seems the window pales
And curlews bubble round the field.
Fresh out, the cattle lift their tails,
Kick, run and bellow, all spring-heeled;
House-sparrows, building in the eaves,
Trail dead grass left from winter floods;
A bass-broom hedgerow-top receives
Its bristle-softening of buds.

First bulbs poke up their smooth green gapes;
Palm willows thrum with early bees;
By rooks’ wind-ruffled swaying shapes
Half-moons of twigs blotch leafless trees;
The ditches harbour glistening spawn;
Gold lichen spangles roof and rails.
Each day the light returns at dawn
How soon it seems the window pales.

by Jerome Betts

Editor’s Note: Iambic tetrameter displays the change of season from cold to warm in this poem (and is a fitting mirror to On The Turn). The repetition of the first line at the close of the poem neatly reminds the reader of the season’s ephemeral nature.

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