I walk the fields and look around at frost- bleached colours grey and brown

Now mid-March with Winter past, Spring should appear but can’t be arsed

With pen to paper frustrated rage as useless doodles fill the page

But is Mother Nature really sleeping, the song thrush trills, the daffs are peeping

The garden’s dug, the seeds are sown. It’s being so cheery keeps me going.!

Dug Slammage