Sunday, April 3, 2011


Editor's note: "The fresh air in the country is exhilarating as a tonic, never tainted by foul odors or pollutants," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Well, almost never!"

It's time for Nature's reveille call,
And we know that winter is done,
When birds and bees, and flowers and trees,
Awake to the springtime sun.

Along with the coming of Spring are some
Of the signs of the changing scene;
Pleasing scents of the season will come
With the turning of brown to green.

I love the clean fresh smell in the air,
That comes with the April showers;
No store perfume will ever compare
With the fragrance of blossoming flowers.

I love the scent of the new-turned loam,
The gentle zephyrs will bring,
From the fields around our suburban home,
When the farmers plow in the Spring.

I love the aroma of newmown hay,
As it cures in the summer sun;
I love the smell as they stow it away
In the barn, when the haying is done.

If country odors were all like these,
Everything would be Heavenly there;
But now and then, borne on the breeze,
Is a smell that would curl your hair!

When one of these rare odors assail
A veteran born to the range,
He holds his breath, and he doesn't inhale,
As he waits for the wind to change!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)

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