(I wrote this in May and didn’t post it because we had one glorious week. Then the weather turned grey and damp again. Today is the solstice so if I don’t post it now I never will!)

After the bravery of the crocus bed was dashed
And the daffodils danced in vain
The fruit blossoms hung heavy and long,
Sullen promise of good harvest if the bees
Had not been kept at home
Fearing windtorn wings and sodden fur.
February frosts marched into an April
Whose showers drenched May
But still the flowers rose,
Shaking their sodden blooms,
Turning soaked faces to the rain,
Cajoled out of winter hiding
By the promise of light nights;
Certainly not by a warmth that never came.
Forget-me-nots tried to capture
An audience in the lanes
But humans scurried to car or door, heads down,
Hidden beneath umbrellas or wide hoods.
(Flowers hardly noticed would surely be forgotten.)
Bluebells rang a brazen fanfare to spring
But no-one listened.
Lilac competed with the clouds,
Intending a colour statement to brighten lives
But tints were leached out by leaden skies,
And then the delicate sprays
Were crushed by storms.
Just recently the may decided to recall
That this month was its own peculiar thralldom;
The hedgerows are alive with whiteness
But the skies remain grey.