The tender, newest leaves of thorn,
atop the hedge, spring skywards;
verges deep in dandelions shine;
the pink confection of the apple-blossom buds
open creamy bliss;
petal-confetti litters
a bower beneath the pear.
Dazzling sun lights, infills
all the semi-transparencies of young leaves,
but a cold breeze curtails daze
buffets awake,
shakes costumed boughs.
A complement of cumuli contend with blue
queue to obscure the sun
to keep his dazzle
coffered in their linings, skied.
Yet time is on his side
and forth he sallies
to conquer with kisses,
speed the syntheses,
fill each vessel full of green-gold power.
He takes this busy pen and lays it down:
'Hush now.
Be still.
Close eyes
and feel the interplay of breeze and light
tingle your skin and ruffle your topknot.'
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PoesíaThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
