A Springtime Poem by Low Furlong residents
Spring is trying to show itself to you;
you just have to open your eyes and look.
Count the shades of blue in the bluebells,
because there are more than you can imagine.
And primroses and foxgloves,
from cloudy white to misty black,
all the colours looking freshly washed or painted.
Listen for the shush of wild swans
flying low and ghostly,
and the blackbirds and thrushes
singing their tiny hearts out
(you’ll only hear a dawn chorus like this in spring).
Smell the greenness of the grass after its first cut of the year,
and the sweetness of April showers falling on new shoots.
Feel that duster in your hand as you spring-clean,
and the energy that courses through you,
as if you’re powered by sunshine.
Savour the first new potato of the season,
minted and full of a flavour that no words can do justice,
and taste the delicious madness
that turns March hares into amorous prize-fighters.
It’s spring: don’t waste it by not noticing!
Something magical awaits all five senses;
you only have to pay attention.
By Kathleen Beauchamp, Alice Davies, Joyce Deering, Meriel Everett, Colin Knight & Joan Sabin - Residents of Low Furlong care home in Shipston-on-Stour, Warwickshire.
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