I hear them already,
The raucous sounds
Of lawnmowers
Going back and forth
Across patches of ground
That have been
Greening up
With spring's warmth
And rains,
And the scents
Of newly mown grass
And wild onions
Are like perfume
To my winter-starved senses.
The Bradford pears next door
Are white with blossoms
And the willow tree that stands
At the foot
Of our sloping yard
Sports tiny green leaves
Along its many whip-like limbs,
Limbs that will soon house
Nests for a variety of birds
Raising their clutches of young.
Meanwhile, at its feet,
Two tulips,
One red, one purple,
Bloom in defiance
Of the lawnmower,
And of the shade to come.