a brace of camellia buds,
pale gold and swollen,
nod knowingly in the rain
March puddles may come,
but the thrush still shouts
when he’s discovered his mate
April is at the threshold
and soon a parish of sparrows
will be singing themselves silly
in the branches of the wild plum
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 
A poem which epitomises the essence of “stop and smell the flowers along the way”
David
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Nice. Enough to put a spring in one’s step. 😉
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Wow–excellent!
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What a delightful poem.
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A beautiful ode to Spring
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This is very nice indeed. I don’t know why I didn’t see it at the time and I’m glad to catch up now.
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