Ballad for an English Spring
Ballad for an English Spring
Lines written while out walking to break the monotony of revision
A painful day, full of study
Of some important pact;
Why do I waste the English Spring?
One cannot help but act.
Discarding of the well-used pen,
I close the hallowed tome.
I shall enjoy the English Spring,
Out on the hallowed loam.
Free at last from diligent work,
Out in the local wood,
Free to enjoy the English Spring,
With nature’s blessed mood.
The most wonderful chestnut tree,
Its grouped up leaves a pleasant green,
They’ve regrown for the English Spring,
Their beauty so serene.
The humble thrush, its song so sweet,
Sweetness I cannot attain,
He does enjoy the English Spring,
Singing his sweet refrain.
I sit down on a stone and sigh,
My mind spoils all I see,
For even in the English Spring,
I just cannot be free.
The birds that sing, plants all around,
Yet work plays on my mind,
Even now in the English Spring,
I am stuck in work’s bind.
What must it be like in nature?
To see its loveliness,
Untainted in the English Spring,
With humanity’s mess.
The thrush and chestnut do not know,
About the laws of man,
Which even in the English Spring,
Through my mind always ran.
My trek feels like an invasion,
I am an outsider,
I’ve invaded this English Spring,
I am cheating on her.
How can she know that
I think of other things?
Things other than the English Spring,
That only sadness brings.
With all the knowledge we posses,
Are we all better off?
As happy as an English Spring?
Or would she turn and scoff?
With sadness I rise to my feet,
My mind now full of grief,
The time spent with the English Spring,
Has been painfully brief.
I must return to my studies,
Fill my mind with knowledge,
Which even in the English Spring,
Must always be acknowledged.
Lines written while out walking to break the monotony of revision
A painful day, full of study
Of some important pact;
Why do I waste the English Spring?
One cannot help but act.
Discarding of the well-used pen,
I close the hallowed tome.
I shall enjoy the English Spring,
Out on the hallowed loam.
Free at last from diligent work,
Out in the local wood,
Free to enjoy the English Spring,
With nature’s blessed mood.
The most wonderful chestnut tree,
Its grouped up leaves a pleasant green,
They’ve regrown for the English Spring,
Their beauty so serene.
The humble thrush, its song so sweet,
Sweetness I cannot attain,
He does enjoy the English Spring,
Singing his sweet refrain.
I sit down on a stone and sigh,
My mind spoils all I see,
For even in the English Spring,
I just cannot be free.
The birds that sing, plants all around,
Yet work plays on my mind,
Even now in the English Spring,
I am stuck in work’s bind.
What must it be like in nature?
To see its loveliness,
Untainted in the English Spring,
With humanity’s mess.
The thrush and chestnut do not know,
About the laws of man,
Which even in the English Spring,
Through my mind always ran.
My trek feels like an invasion,
I am an outsider,
I’ve invaded this English Spring,
I am cheating on her.
How can she know that
I think of other things?
Things other than the English Spring,
That only sadness brings.
With all the knowledge we posses,
Are we all better off?
As happy as an English Spring?
Or would she turn and scoff?
With sadness I rise to my feet,
My mind now full of grief,
The time spent with the English Spring,
Has been painfully brief.
I must return to my studies,
Fill my mind with knowledge,
Which even in the English Spring,
Must always be acknowledged.
Comments
The same noble, balanced criticism that I've come to expect from you John. Thanks
Ballad for an English Spring II
The season, she has turned on me,
Learned of my indiscretion.
My once beloved English Spring
Increasing in aggression.
Dodging the initial volley,
Bullets fill the air.
Crazed and gun-toting, English Spring,
No solace anywhere.
I duck behind the register
And load another clip.
Reticule seeks the English Spring,
My finger mustn't slip.
A semi crashes through the wall,
Domingo at the wheel.
I clamber past the English Spring;
"Step on it, Bro!" I squeal.
Barreling down the interstate
With suitcase full of loot.
Not far behind, the English Spring
Making deadly pursuit.
Shooting out all our tires,
The truck starting to swerve,
We bail out; that English Spring
Will soon get what's deserved.
A laser-guided rocket
I do launch straight and true;
Now lies beloved English Spring
A pile of smoldering goo.
Now seven years have come and gone,
I still visit her grave.
Oh, crazy psycho English Spring...
You were such a bitch.
Also, wood rhymes with mood?