Sunday Sonnet (to Start the Week), #17, 2016


[Image from Pinterest]

Sporadic-blooming amethysts among

emerald leaves – all and everything growing,

spreading forth with tendrils; creeping, sowing

seed for next year’s rebirth.  This is Spring, young

buds quickly becoming mature and lungs

filled with fresher air, and pollen (mowing

grass adding perfume also).  Bees flowing

on unseen currents, bodies laden, hung

with dusty sweetness: converse to the scent

of fields in this season, fertiliser

natural come from creatures wafting, lent

buoyancy on the breeze.  Pungent, and yet

an intrinsic part of the country: wise

is he who moves his city children here.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]