Out of our sight the flowers are coming into leaf
Like something is being said by Nature 
Groaning silently in the breeze 
Watching shadows drip early that morning

Metamorphosising across rings of truth
Of our days in isolation that Spring 
Before growing old in a matter of months
Out of the restless tension in all of our words 

Moving itself across along in a silent wisdom 
Brushing itself in the air in a Buddhist prayer
Murmuring although this spring could be ruined
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh next year. 

(After Larkin's 'The Trees')