May

As soon as May the lime trees burst,
Unfurling flags of calling green,
Hedge-row parsley overflows,
And by the thousand, May-flies teem,
Lungs draw in a heavy scent,
Where pollen clouds reflect the light,
Golden dust of buttercups,
Paints the shoes on meadow-miles.

The canopy’s translucent screen,
Flickers down the sunlit warmth,
Where overhead the honey-bees,
Collect the nectar for the swarm,
And underneath the feet the soil
is warming and becoming life,
Supporting golden saxifrage,
Campion and cuckoo-pint.

If bottled time were shelved away,
To sip a cup as winter draws,
Or in an hour-glass held a day,
To watch the world as was before,
Any May of any year,
Is tonic for the frosty days,
To smell again the champagne elder,
Watch the lace-wings,
Feel the breeze,
Re-visit heaven-scented Mays.