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May 14 on the Welsh Border

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.