Grey, dark
The wildness of the wet
A weight of water
Falling, flowing
A west wind is blowing
And pushing to the top
Players are arriving
And the first notes are tuning
A lark is trilling on the hill
A Curlew bubbling by the lake
Like a love song to the spring
Starting from nowhere
From a bleak moorland silence
Something beautiful is coming
#CoSopoetry