The bark of the tree I’m resting on is deeply scarred
The light playfully shines through the leaves
A grasshopper peacefully hoping around
It’s thinking about something to eat
I’m dressed like a sailor for a long journey
Surrounded by trees solemnly standing by
Listening to the leaves rustling in light breeze
Feeling at peace and pensive at the same time
The future is open seemingly far away
The hedgerows play host to the noble Blackthorn,
With its first show of blossom; white as the pure driven snow.
Little clusters of delicate petals appear to grow,
With zeal and such urgency on dark stems devoid of foliage.
Tiny green shoots start to nervously appear,
Bound tightly at first; in readiness to burst.
Elegant blooms some tinged with pink,
Slowly bow their heads, sadly, soon to be extinct.
Some falling gently, to the ground,
Quietly, dying without a sound.
Their fragrance alas taken, but shed not a tear,
As the Black Prince of the hedgerow,
Will reappear in splendour,
Serene again, year after year.