Not yet came spring, but the last lap of winter.
Storms. Hail. Rain. Rain. Rain.
Flowers all swept down. Birds silent.
Then much hard toil. Much backache.
Muddy boots. Scratched hands. Deep sleep.
Then one morning a general greenness,
And all the rose-bushes broken into leaf –
From a Garden in the Antipodes (Sidgwick & Jackson, 1929)
9 April, 2005