Lines Written in Early Spring

Through the breezy whine of the forlorn, I see the petals, fresh and torn, Memories of summer play their part, Yet now the chill feels close to heart.

Still winter clings, but buds stretch to see, The beauty outside the barbed tree, And in the creeks, the echoes sing, A promise made by nature’s kin.

With whispers foreign, nature connects, Those lonely limbs reach back, perplexed, To personify the vibrant show That flows from life’s intended flow.

• Dorothy Wordsworth