Spring, It Is A lie.

Press the title for the whole post. 🧡

A snapshot of my garden 6th April.

Watch them unfurl in the fragileility of spring,
Opening our eyes allowing us to dream.
Sun scoots low to expose streaked windows
and stained tablecloths that soap failled to clean.
Dust motes dance without rythm or beat,
As the light stings our eyes and warms our feet.
lettuce and sweatpeas sprout in soil filled pots,
With dafdodills normality comes in restless spots.
But do not be fooled enough to blink or sigh,
For Jack with pointy fingers and lazer eyes
Sends snapping frosts throughout night skies.
He burns lime green leaves until

they are as as black as Magpies eyes

Stomps on plants with leadend boots.

Its plan is clear to freeze the shoots.
Now our gardens spoilled
spring hadn’t sprung
So we begin again

with steaming pile

Of Pony
Dung.

Forget-me-not.

Which is your favourite season and why ? Let me know in a comment

March Marches On

Linda Hill challenges with the word March press here to read or join in the fun.

It was the sound and sight of spring,

That bouncing boxing lop eared thing.

He ruled his paddock won his mate

in his hole next the five bar gate.

The March hare mad as can be

Brings spring to life this morning for me.

Fox stalks his vixen flicks his brush

Jumps atop his choice in a rush.

Twice or thrice maybe more

grinds her into the floor

when her belly is round and full

another vixen he will pull.

March Marches to the beat

of Mother nature’s  drum

To procreate

We call her

Mum.

 

 

A bit of whimsy to warm your soul and tickle your fancy. I hope you liked it.