Here’s another spring poem, this one by A.E. Houseman whose birthday is also today.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

We did nature journals in my journaling class today. I actually tried to write a poem myself. Rough (very rough) draft:

a tree planted firmly, solidly,
needs the wind
to push and bounce the branches gently,
(or wildly)
blow out the debris.
leaving only the truly growing parts