Spring

under the willow, the rain has left its tears
in the yellow faces of the daffodils.

along the lane, the blackthorn shivers with blossom,
and with its song of many colours,
the skylark loses itself in the sky.

a fug of midges fester by the hedgerows,
translucent in the sunlight.  when I get home,
my jumper smells like horses and the spring air.