The trees are coming into leaf; <br />the sap is pressing through the wood. <br />Violets, suspending disbelief <br />in spring, reveal now one by one <br />flowers of self-defining hue; <br />while butterflies with purple sheen <br />on flimsy wings try out the sun; <br />the sky's a half-forgotten blue. <br />Brash celandine invades the beds, <br />covers brown earth with green and gold; <br />bold daisies dare to show their heads. <br />The grass puts on a different green <br />and grows apace - I knew it would <br />(when was it mowed last? I forget) <br />and tangled branches really should <br />be pruned, but I've not got the heart <br />to execute or amputate; <br />in this profusion, who'd be so cold? <br />Though some day soon I'll have to start <br />(my neighbours think I've left it late) <br />I won't rush in and then regret - <br />Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.<br /><br />Paul Hansford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-song-10/
