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Spring
The sunshine turns to honey in the spring
to drizzle golden syrup on the trees.
In yellow sheen it blesses everything,
so fuzzy bees brush pollen on their knees.
The bees keep bumbling into blossom rooms.
Their noise of humming buzzing fills my mind
to mix mesmeric songs with cherry blooms:
the sweetest sense of springtime love defined.
Suppose the stretching greens beside the pinks
forever kept unfurling buds beyond.
The countryside would fill with living links;
in softness, curling tendrils form their bond.
I hope the joy of promise in this light
will bring you comfort when it is the night.
Copyright ©
Jeanette Swan
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