Street trees are waking in gloss.
Some in violet flowers, true orgasm.
The decades pass and woodgrain expands
The wind their teacher,
their fall leaves
like books to nourish the seedlings.
Bushy spring foliage, a vital shine
the colour of comfort.
The soft touch to the hard street.
Have we time to see the flower bloom
without asking permission.
Have we time to admire what grows
beautifully on our periphery.
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