Who is it that sets the silent sound
When Sycamore trees fed from the ground?
Must burst forth their green leaves
Each April when spring comes around.
Do Sycamore’s tell the Bluebells bulbs
“Your time is right to give delight
Carpet the woods and open ground
Nod your heads in such silent magnificent sound”.
Where you both seen by the Magnolias?
Who clearly want to add their purple delights
Their most magnificent flowers
Every bit as impressive as celebratory roses.
Over the next coming months
Other plants will emerge
Pleasures with familiar names
That might reduce us, mere mortals to shame.
Are we not in awe of nature
Her majestic cloak of life
Each year we see the creature
But never shall we copy the purple loosestrife.
Grasses, Bur-Reeds, Horsetails and Orchids
Foxglove, grandiose in their lofty steeps
Comfrey or borage with their splash of blue
Year on year, they all come as new.
Sunshine and rain are their daily bread
Even wind of storm force gales
Runs off the good earth in the deep rooted beds
Of both hills and dales,