Poem

April 2011

Spring and Summer have arrived together.

Sisters flaunt the colours of two seasons,

Battling to be Catwalk Queen.

They rush to clothe the landscape which, no sooner dressed,

Casts off the zesty greens in favour of more tropic tones.

Yet each sister has her loyal fans:

New grass brushes green across the hills,

Ploughed fields are bleached to chalk.

Beech and birch scintillate in lime,

Crab apple’s bronze burnishes the orchard.

Sweet Woodruff dances in her lacy white,

Whilst Campion smoulders in her shocking pink.

Conflict drives the soundtrack to this year’s show,

As courtship melodies are drowned out

By the bagpipe drone of bees,

And the customary prattle of breeze-blown leaves

Is silenced by a blanket of blue.

Now all’s apprehension

As we await that final curtain call.

If Spring’s triumphant, she’ll close with indigo and black,

The inky blue of storm-filled skies;

The drum of rain will drown out our applause.

If Summer takes the crown, then we will scorch in golds and reds,

Craving cover from her gaze,

Watching as she burns the colour from the land.