The Flowers

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')

◄ Guilt in her pockets

Hitching a Ride ►

Comments

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Andy N

Sun 3rd May 2020 13:07

Thanks Emer. Thought you may like this but I am glad you did (:

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Andy N

Sat 2nd May 2020 15:05

Glad you liked Ruth and thanks.

Thanks also Nigel. This came about from reading this poem somewhere by chance last night and it kinda made sense reflecting on it in a different era. I like to think Larkin would have thought something similar if he had wrote it nowadays.

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Nigel Astell

Sat 2nd May 2020 02:07

Your poem is like spring itself
words afresh in rings of truth.

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