The trees are flaunting their latest look,
Conscious they are turning heads
In admiration.
There is life in the morning breeze
That lightly lifts the modest leaves,
And there is life in the growing strength
Of the young May sun.
The year is at her peak of beauty.
She turned 16 on May Day
And will be 24 when May
Grows gracefully into June.
The fields are yellow and white
This early morning.
And the growing grass,
The finest of the year,
Still glistens with the damp of night.
The hawthorn is a cloud of white,
And the fine young cows delight
In the sweet bright May grass at their feet
For the milk of May will be cream not milk
At milking time tonight.
Cricket is stretching his limbs for future tests.
The square at Lords is mown with care,
And Wimbledon is far ahead,
The grass there caressed for the two-week pounding,
Though the last day of Wimbledon
When the service line is brown and bare
Starts the slow, sure countdown to the end of summer.
Give thanks for the time
To wander through the glowing fields
To stop and lean on the five-bar gate
And breathe in the young summer air.
Give thanks you have the time to wait
For that one small cloud to pass,
Slow but sure,
To reveal the muscles of the sun.
Give thanks that for today at least
There is no facing the computer screen,
The old enemy,
With aching neck,
Chained to the oar
By the tyranny of the email
Which wields the whip over us all.
There is still time to wander on among the trees
And drink the heady air of May,
To think of warmer days to come
For summer is now waiting for her cue
To make her entrance on the stage,
As every season has its day.