Spring Festival

It’s another cold, grey, damp afternoon. I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of warmth and sunshine. In its absence, I’ve decided to share Spring Festival with you once again. Then I’ll brew up a cuppa and dream of summer days. Hope you enjoy reading it.

After forty days and forty nights
Snowdrops drip their way into the wings,
Spring highlights
a flurry of forsythia.
Brash daffs polishing tarnished trumpets 
weave a mixed melody.
After the gold rush, smoke gets in your eyes

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