[Original Poem] Spring #1.5
The British seasons are ridiculous. It bleeds into our brains, a fine drizzle of water-torture.
In my floral poem era, they usually have bees in them.
Florals for spring? Groundbreaking.
An original poem about the early arrival of spring before it briefly disappears again. Roll on autumn! I am not a summer-weather person in the slightest, I have a tendency to dissolve. Anyway, a spring poem, before the inevitable melting oeuvre drops, then back to my more natural milieu, describing falling leaves as viscerally and uncomfortably as possible. It’s basically a merry dance around the word “mulch”.
