When the lane up the hill is more puddle than path, and you're up to your ankles in mud;
when the stream overflows and is running so fast that it almost resembles a flood.
Look out for the signs that the dark days are passing and think what the future could bring.
For a milky, blue sky and a chill wind, send reminders of winter, but the promise of spring
When faces are surly, turned stony with cold, and warm greetings are mumbled at best;
the skeletal trees stand defiant and proud, for their memories are strong, not repressed.
As the the comorants dive and the skylarks perform, you just want to join in with their fling.
For a blue sky and a chill wind, raise our spirits somehow and prepare us for spring.
In the field there's a bleating from near and afar, as the new lambs embrace their new world;
and ahead in the meadow, a slight hint of green as the leaves of the hawthorn unfurl.
The robins and blackbirds begin to collect moss and grasses and twigs, as they sing.
The chill wind is forgotten and blue sky wins out, with its message of Hope and of spring.
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