Spring

I was sitting at the cafe on Peckham Rye enjoying a cup of coffee when, out of the blue, this poem arrived: a response to the joys of spring. (Why the text appears in double-spacing is something the computer has decreed. But one must rise above these bloody irritations.)

when daffodils jostle with

bluebells, and blossom

fringes boughs and bushes,

and squirrels chase their tails

while birds warble, and dogs

ignore their whistling masters,

and leaves unfurl like

badly-kept secrets, then

spring my love has sprung