The ash tree swells its buds as black as jet
Whose pale green keys are not unfolded yet
The sallow glistens in its gay palm blooms
Studded with golden dust where earliest come
The solitary wild bees that survive
Their trance & keep their feeble songs alive
The rifted elm from cloathing spring recieves
Its hoplike pale forerunners of the leaves
& tasselled catkins on the hazels cling
The woodmans genial prophecys of spring
Follow me for daily #JohnClare postings.
#photography #poetry #environment
Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd
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