budding glory

The weather is unseasonably warm and the welcome sunshine is bringing the garden back to life after winter. Bushes and trees are bursting with buds and the daffodils are opening at last.

So for a sunny March Monday a poem called ‘Trees’ by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In full grown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

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