No Green in the Forest of Dean

Spring, Spring, wherefore art thou Spring?

Here they are then!
Trees, all different, all sentinel,
Of a forest full of life unseen,
Unless you scrutinise the scene.

Larch is struggling to wear green,
Beaten only by willows tearfully weeping.
Everything else is bare, naked and easily seen,
Waiting for Spring, is it around the corner, peeping?

The noisy whisperings of pines run through the canopy,
As if there's some sort of conspiracy,
Swishing their heads together, they seem to agree -
Spring must have forgotten the neighbouring trees.

Yew and Holly surround the dell,
Where wild boar uprooted bulbs of bluebell,
The pond is full of toads frantically spawning,
No attention is paid to Heron watching.

Walking slowly now, deer in the clearing,
I stand still and watch them,
I see one reciprocating,
They are fleet of foot and dart for cover,
And I'm left in awesome wonder.

Rabbit diving into warren,
Squirrel running to it's drey,
Song birds flying into thickets,
While raptor circles, how wicked.

If time enough you have to bide,
Watch Mandarin ducks which now reside
Alongside Swan and Goose, Moorhen and Coot,
Enough birds - for a twitcher's pursuit.

Lambs are born into cold and snow,
Birds sing loudly against the windy blow,
There's no cover for nests,
No warmth for eggs to hatch,
No weather for a clutch.

Rumours of a big Black Cat stalking,
In this vast forest of venison as prey,
How sinister, wild and intriguing,
Thank God I didn't come across him this day.

Cold, scarf and hat adorn me,
Whilst I draw my coat about me.

Strangely irritated by the lack of green,
My demeanour is one of slightly flattened esteem,
I shouldn't feel like this, I can't intervene,
Lots of other things I've seen, made me beam.

Spring, Spring, wherefore art thou Spring?
©Kris Preve l- April 2013