Today is World Poetry Day –

it’s also International Day of Forests and the Tree

It’s full on springtime, you must be able to see a tree from your window, I couldn’t help but think of grumpy old Philip Larkin today – his poem is so apt:

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh

In fullgrown thickness every May.

Last year is dead, they seem to say,

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.