“And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!”
And after May..but I wish for a never after
holding fast as Faust to a month’s moments
when the lanes foam at the mouth with birdsong
frothing with petal and wild chervil
a volcanic eruption of aqua vitae comes
pouring into every pore of the earth
in a rush of landscaping that readily spreads
like the ingénue’s awkward blush
it is green loitering on the brink of solstice
not tenderfoot nor mature and motherly shade
but really there are no words this side of purple
or around the maypole tangles of hyperbole
call me wilfully melancholy if you will
but even when the budding month is set to swell
then bursts with a boisterous cannonade of may days
I flag the voyaging vessel with signals of distress
June comes now spring-heeled and hot on the scent
of an all too soon consumed summer but like Arachne
we must spin in synchrony with time and motion
or forfeit the chance of heaven
*prompted by Browning’s “Home-thoughts, from abroad”
and joining with other versifiers at Poetry Pantry
PoetryPix 
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