Springing Spronging - Stephen O'Brien

The tented canopy of branches
Provides a comfort from others
As the dappled sunlight reaches
Down to twist the patterns moved
All around by rushing air.

The hemlock all around me hides
A little place to sit.
A squared brick makes a table
With sticks and leaves upon it
Faeries preparing for their supper.

The chimiing of the bell-called hour
Makes a clashing, silly music
Without score or conductor
Blending chirping, murmered birds.

The flora reaches up with new greens
To provide a bed for falling
Pedals flurried like the snow
We get once, or twice, a year
In February. Snow-fed streams
Once fed the falling flowers.