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Where river ripples brown, cannot stopper a wry grin: silently sliding down, current ruches up its skin. In dead reed wilderness rain-tumbled, sun-dried, wind-cracked at the end of winter's act new dark-green spears express.
Wild black and amber bees are sharp-seen or widely heard - when disembodied these passes fuss us till we're stirred. Searching classical laws of (Where?) the locally real, in entanglement surreal, a sting might give us pause.
Though they buzz the green base where nettles fettle up, fill - of spring flowers no trace, no country of daffodil; but heavy bodies lift to see white tendernesses that prinking breeze caresses adorn black spikes in drift.
Sweetness easing wonder that we had but dreamed we lived all winter (one cylinder) lost ships cold waters sieved each mind tight as a drum now blossom breathe, ghost laid - kind land has not betrayed but home to harbor come.
The chaffinch sings out clear, willow warblers fanfare joining the robin's year, workload to ease and share. New leaves so succulent we wonder what's edible for salads incredible - half jest, half mad intent.
And levering back up hill leaving the river, sated, of blossom breathe more still; top path's blackthorn gated. Late-March Lady lets in spring, our legs to speed not slow, as from these precincts we go, spring-drugged, walk-sedated.
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This runs to a regular form. The syllable count for the lines of each stanza is 6,7,6,7,6,7,7,6 and the rhyme scheme is a,b,a,b,c,d,d,c. This one is more 'after the manner' than specifically based on one Donne form.
