1.07.2023

spring always manages to get there first

Always it happens when we are not there—
The tree leaps up alive into the air, 
Small open parasols of Chinese green 
Wave on each twig. But who has ever seen 
The latch sprung, the bud as it burst? 
Spring always manages to get there first. 
 
Lovers of wind, who will have been aware 
Of a faint stirring in the empty air, 
Look up one day through a dissolving screen 
To find no star, but this multiplied green, 
Shadow on shadow, singing sweet and clear. 
Listen, lovers of wind, the leaves are here! 
 

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