May 14th on the Welsh border.
May 14th on the Welsh border.
The trees are
flaunting their latest look,
Conscious they are
turning heads
In admiration.
There is life in the morning
breeze
That lightly lifts
the modest leaves,
And there is life in
the growing strength
Of the young May sun.
The year is at her
peak of beauty.
She turned 16 on May
Day
And will be 24 when
May
Grows gracefully into
June.
The fields are yellow
and white
This early morning.
And the growing
grass,
The finest of the
year,
Still glistens with
the damp of night.
The hawthorn is a cloud
of white,
And the young cows
delight
In the sweet bright May
grass at their feet
For the milk of May will
be cream not milk
At milking time tonight.
Cricket is stretching
his limbs for future tests.
The square at Lords
is mown with care,
And Wimbledon is far
ahead,
The grass there caressed
for the two-week pounding,
Though the last day
of Wimbledon
When the service line
is brown and bare
Starts the slow, sure
countdown to the end of summer.
Give thanks for the
time
To wander through the
glowing fields
To stop and lean on
the five-bar gate
And breathe in the
beauty.
Give thanks you have the
time to wait
For that one small cloud
to pass,
Slow but sure,
To reveal the muscles
of the sun.
Give thanks that for
today at least
There is no facing the
computer screen,
The old enemy,
With aching neck,
Chained to the oar
By the tyranny of the
email
Which wields the whip
over us all.
There is still time
to wander on among the trees
And breathe the heady
air of May,
To think of summer
days to come
For summer is now
waiting for her cue
To make her entrance
on the stage,
And every season has
its day.
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