Picture: Fishing In The Spring by Vincent Van Gogh
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New-born leaves spread their wings,
They’ve been doing it for so many springs
And I wonder when would they ever stop
All this nonsense of colour, fall and pop
Back, out again from their woody source,
As green as words can’t really tell. Of course,
I know time is just a concept, a funny game
We play to see ourselves as something tame.
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But wild birds are calling
And they will get an answer
For you can’t stop a dancer
From rising and falling.
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Fresh maple leaves breathe their first
Gust of wind in the coy sunlight;
The robin’s home brings sudden delight
And blackthorns bloom in a burst
Of rejuvenating scent.
Winter is spent.
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For the Goldfinch has appeared
On the doorstep of my home
And I can’t help feeling kind of weird…
Is this a dream for play and roam?
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Herons
Sunshower 