Thanks to 'pass on a poem' for choosing this seasonal poem by the poet UA Fanthorpe, who died on 28 April, as its poem of the week.
MAY 8TH: HOW TO RECOGNISE IT
The tulips have finished their showy conversation.
Night's officers came briefly to report,
And took their heads off.
The limes have a look of someone
Who has been silent for a very long time,
And is about to say a very good thing.
Roses grow taller, leafier,
Duller. They have star parts.
Like great actors, they hang about humbly in the wings.
On the lawn, daisies sustain their candid
Childish shout. Hippy dandelions are stoned
Out of their golden minds. And always
The rub-a-dub-dub recapitulation
Of grass blades growing. The plum tree is resting
Between blossom and fruit. Like a poker-player,
She doesn't show her hand. Daffodils
Are a matter of graceless brown leaves and rubber bands.
Wallflowers have turned bony.
This is not the shining childhood of spring,
But its homely adolescence, angular, hypothetical.
How one regrets the blue fingertips staggering
Up from the still dank earth.