April

 

A round thing takes a winding path among the open flowers

To right , to left , as if it doesn’t have a care

Lightweight and covered with a mat of hair

Visiting each daffodil

And bluebell , Like a postman calling ,

 

As if it had never been in doubt

with humming almost wingless travel

As if it had always been going to be there

                              
  Anita Greg 08/04/2019