Mud Season

The driveway is now a swamp of wet muck, I fear driving any car but the truck, without four-wheel drive, you’re gonna get stuck; oh mud season has arrived. The snow is melting, half-flooding the ground, to step on the sound brings a squelching sound, all sorts of fallen branches have been found; oh mud season has arrived. The ski hill is empty, snow left in streaks, with more brown every day, as the sun seeks every hidden patch, it’s no longer weak; oh mud season has arrived. Streams run swollen that are most times sedate, the waterfalls surge, their flows much too great, stunning to look on as they plunge and race; oh mud season has arrived. I’d like to go out, but it is too soon, the trails right now would be a muddy doom, I can only dream of them from this room; oh mud season has arrived. But life is back, I see the wading brants, and the new fawns by the field-edge do prance, while tawny does look on, somewhat askance; oh mud season has arrived. It’s already spring way up in the air, but as for the earth, it is not quiet there, so on rural roads, I will drive with care; oh mud season has arrived. (Can’t wait ’till it says "goodbye!”)