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.