Trees with leaves and flowers and fruit
Find root and bloom and shade in sun
And grow in the grey days
That make the greens pop against the pavement
And scenes stop to grab a walkers gaze.

The quiet moss of morning
Folds emeralds into dewy stone
To stew with vapour of such lush life
And catalyse the serene copse 
Sewn sidelong a paper pond
Where reeds sleep and fish whisper.

Inhale thick mist
Sail along damp-darkened bark
Back to branches that nuzzle the nests
Red-breasted robins skip and sing
Through the verdant fog of another spring.