A twerp of a bird gives a chirp in a tree,
For this morning they're setting Proserpina free:
The spirit of springtime, now, gentlemen, ladies,
Let's hear it for her as she hurries from Hades!
The rye and the maize will rise up with the barley,
The cherubs will cheer up with rusks (made by Farley),
And the din of the dawn will be nature's quintessence,
A time to discard all one's anti-depressants.
Proserpina pampers the richest and poorest:
She brings them alike the inquisitive tourist
To laugh at the lambs as they do nature's bidding,
To smile at the stoats, and the goats, only kidding.
She greets the unwary with showers of petals,
With wakening brakefuls of brambles and nettles,
With herbalists burbling and marvellous millers,
And sharpeners of scythes (for the cereal killers).
Her tresses are green and her arms full of lilies
(That's if you believe the Pre-Raphaelite sillies);
She stirs up the memory of Maydays in heydays -
Or leastways persuades us to go on Awaydays.
The cattle are lowing, the hunters are horny,
The joke at the local Young Farmers' is corny.
Proserpina calls! Time to pack up the black dress!
Recharge (as the bishop once said to the actress).