“Scraps of blackthorn blossom fleck my coat,
Felix Dennis
Another gust of hail, and down they float;
A fine spring this— the earth as cold as stone,
North-easterlies that cut you to the bone.
The primroses have withered, one by one,
The bluebells cower, praying for the sun…”
Some sunny Easter Sunday blackthorn blossom as I rambled with my Ricoh today -(and just noticed that the blossom seems to be decorating a cross or two!). With an incoming cold weather front, this poem is spot on
PoetryPix 
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