The Coppice

When winter days have passed us by
And spring is in the air,
And the verdant grass starts growing
On our lawn and every where.

We stroll out to the coppice
Secluded on the hill,
Away from dinning traffic
Where the atmosphere is still.

We see a red bird flit above,
And hear a cawing crow,
And glimpse a playful rabbit
Cavorting down below.

We stumble over brittle sticks
and spring with sinking tread
Upon voluptuous carpeting
Of fallen leaves, now dead.

Here lies a natural habitat
Where flowers thrive and grow,
Where blue and yellow violets
Lend their beauty to the show.

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