Over Where The Spring Lambs Bounce

Along in lines bloomed terrifically some young blondes
with their honey suckled scents lingering in wisps of air,
swelling the field full of amber petals, away from the ponds.
Then at once they scurried from the bippity-bopping of soft hooves
but with delicate legs like theirs, leashed to the ground,
the daffodils clutched to the wind with the lamb; unbound.

It skipped, it sprang, it wobbled about
through the clovers and the daisies
like an adventurous boy scout.
It searched, it smelled, it frolicked along
with the crawlers that crawl
and the flyers that fall.

With the bumps scattered in the ground underneath,
he fell about at first with his weak new legs,
wanting to run about and chattering his teeth.
Grass was rich away from the herd
but this would be his last graze,
for tomorrow the butcher pays.