Wishing
I saw the first lamb of the year
trotting, cute in the field.
It makes me want to gambol too.
And daffodils poking yellow noses
past half-dead weeds from last year.
I scan the scrubby edges for evidence
that my civilising bulbs are growing
to paint grubby verges with vermillion
and a deep ecclesiastical purple.
In this muddy, twiggy, puberty
phase of the year, it’s easy to forget
that by May time I will
be gazing through thistle fences
and bracken barriers,
pulling overnight weeds and pleading:
Please stop it with the sprouting
just long enough for me to catch up!
