Spring, at last, returns to Cornwall
Her drabness was boring me
her grey dresses day after dayuntil this afternoon’s gowns of blue
celandines strewn through her hair
chaffinches and skylarks landing
on her shoulders, wild garlic
shooting out little white stars and scent
as I kiss the ground with my boots –
falling in love again – how could I
have not seen her beauty? How can
I not fall rapturous in the spring grass
drown in the wide blue sky,
slide silently onto her shores in obeisance
like the swans on the beach at Durgan?
