Where tender seedlings are on show,
Mint and parsley raise their heads
Modestly from flower beds.
The pots are newly filled with blooms
Their roots reach downwards one assumes
Much-needed moisture feeds the growth
Of fragile tendrils, buds – or both.
Each day the dawn brings welcome heat
And bans the shadows in my street
The sound of birdsong fills my ears
Spring's here at last - though in arrears!
Thyme bursts forth from winter sleep
I trim the woody bits and keep
The bright green shoots with fragrant smell;
My garden full of herbs bodes well!
(c) Poet in the woods 2017
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