Painting by David Hockney
Spring's Arrival
I went for a wee.
In that moment I noticed something
Had perceptually shifted.
A lightness had blow in
Through the night on the winds.
Or was it the dance of the moonlight?
Whatever the way the traveller
Had changed their cloak.
The heaviness had lifted
And wintered given herself over to
Spring. Just like That.
Or was it? I am no wiser as to how
And daily question my faith.
Clouds scuttle through internal skies.
What remains is Spring's
Indomitable warmth from the rays of
The rising sun and the swaying
Golden daffodils.
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