Poem

Crimson clover I discover
By the garden gate,
And the bees about her hover,
But the robins wait.
Sing, robins, sing,
Sing a roundelay,-
’Tis the latest flower of Spring,
Coming with the May!

Crimson clover I discover
In the open field,
Mellow sunlight brooding over,
All her warmth revealed.
Sing, robins, sing,
’Tis no longer May,-
Fuller bloom doth Summer bring,
Ripened thro’ delay!

2012-19