April Passing

Spring brings the smell of fresh, 

Newly cut shrubberies with neatened corners, 

Dusty brick surrounds your edge, 

To keep you warm through winter. 

Like a mother’s woollen jumper, 

Protected from the British storm;

September through to March.

 

Yet April sings a new song, 

Of hope; a blooming start.

Maybe this will be the year,

For something new to grow.

Perhaps a mustard seed?

Could grow through the sky

And provide some shelter, 

For a poet passing by. 

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