Spring - Poem

The season of revival

Between the beds of bluebells,

Where wafts of wild garlic wander

On a cool breeze,

Dappled sunlight punctures a canopy

Of new-born leaves and blossom,

Like a needle with a promise,

Of daylight threaded through evening,

And warmth that pulls the soul

From hibernation.

Nestled in a nook within this bluebell wood,

A fairy sits,

Trimming her hair with tiny scissors,

Sprinkling fairy dust onto her wings.

She startles as she sees me,

We lock eyes,

‘Summer is coming,’ I say,

‘Yes,’ she answers,

‘But spring is right here.’

And she flaps her wings,

Fluttering deep into foliage.

Inhaling the aromas of wildflowers,

As birdsong preaches renewal,

I run my fingers through flora,

A rejuvenated smile blooms across my lips,

She’s right, I think,

Spring is right here.