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The gleam of the celandine
When the sun strikes the hedgerow bank,Shining mid hosts of rainy days,The sun-chrome flowers turn to face it,Brightest rays of all arrays.
The earliest of all spring flowersNow jostles the pale primroseSoftly limpid in pastel shadesWhile between the new grass grows.
Its Greater relative comes and goesWith the swallow, the chelidon,But it is the Lesser that gladdens My heart and shall not see mown.
Eight waxen yellow petals furlInto themselves beneath grey clouds,Yet rain, however hard it fallsUpright they stand unbowed and proud.
Nature renews herself each year
Turning to face it once again;Perhaps this year will be diff’rentBut I fear it’s all in vain.
The strimmer, the mowing machine,Heeds not the beauty in its path.Incumbent upon man, it is,Who cannot see his lack of craft.
© RM MeyerWinswell Water, March 2020