The coming of spring

Little blackbirds sitting in the tree tops
whistling their lovely tunes.
Calling out their love for living,
and for the spring that's coming soon.
Farmers ankle deep, in wet and muddied fields
all cold and wet and lost.
Looking forward to the new horizons,
and for the sun to chase the frost.
All the fields are bare and empty,
and the new crops, can just be seen.
Pushing countless little heads life,
covering the bare earth with their green.
Meanwhile, in the lonely farmhouse,
where the stew is piping hot,
the farmers wife sits waiting,
for her farmer, tending crops.
And the sheep are standing waiting,
as are the pigs and hens and wife.
All waiting for the farmer
to come back to tend to life.
And as homeward bound he trudges
his thoughts upon this land.
He thinks of all the gifts he has,
and the life he gives, by his own hand