Beside storm-curdled mud-drifts;
Birds pecking land and worms back from fenced waterfields.
Russet brown and orange – requiem saw shavings
From the old tree brought down across the pavement.
Only a livid stump remains
In its allocated earthbreak;
Its sentinel centuries
Humbly swarm to warm the bottom of a gate post,
And the yellowing green of new catkins
Hangs a promise above greying ghosts;
Shade-slumbering old man’s beard
Tangles winter’s last legacy into a hedge,
Bequeathing tufts, but only here and there,
To the blinking blue sky.
Down the road,
Indigo grasses have been newly planted in proud garden pots,
Whilst crocuses sprinkle the park;
Like the memory
In brush-dry broken branches
Piled ready for burning,
Now colour has come back to us.