Written on a foggy morning whilst walking the grounds at Wollaton Hall, Nottingham.


The old winter falls away

Like a scarf

And coat

Being abandoned upon arriving home





The days are now milder

With surprising spurts of sun

And hints of colour

Pinks, yellows, green

Coyly peeking out

Like a teenage girl stealing a look

At her crush

From behind a curtain of hair

It strives

To lift the weight

Of the deadening copse of branches

And deceased decomposing leaves.

Mornings seem lighter

Evenings too

Longer days

For lingering possibilities

Spring is a brew.


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