Spring is a venerable lady,
Always welcome, sometimes late.
Demure in her childhood, modestly hanging
Her snowdrop face, and gently putting forth
Her furry mittens on the willow trees.
Crocuses, Victorian maidens, open wide
To the advances of the sun to show their petticoats.
But once the childhood whites and yellows
Have passed, the brazen tulips flaunt their colours
Beneath the white covered branches
Of almond, cherry, apple, pear and plum.
And as the bright young leaves turn sombre
The first roses open in their blowsiness
And Spring opens wide the door for Summer.
photo and text © Gillian Peall