Everybody’s back,

everyone is singing

willow warbler, chiff chaff,

flycatchers, redstart

and even the cuckoo too.


Hares are running in the April showers,

the brook churns rounded stones

down-hill, shafts of sunlight

crafting the green-grass view

late daffodils bent by an Easter snow.


Deep clouds obscure the moon,

it’s chilly yet in the old hills

and hearth light glows warmly in the coals,

lamplight falling in yellow pools

the open book mirrors words in silence.