Spring falls into summer on a bluebell memory
like veils drift beyond a bride, or stars
born from fireworks spill from the sky,
and babies slither into waiting hands,
gulp air, remembering watery journeys.

Spring falls into summer when seagulls
teach their young to fly,
children learn to swim, sheep show their lambs
how to forage, survive alone,
while swallows spiral into nests
       behind wisteria tear-drops on the wall.

Spring falls into summer
with cacophony of boats and cars and mowers,
day crowds laughing, arguing, yelling, crying,

but in the silence of green-muted woods
         spring falls into summer with a sigh.

As fresh grows faded, dawn chorus
hides in summer noise, and sunburned cheeks
begin to feel a night time chill.
When blossoms fall, gently bruised
      and dying under busy feet,

We dare to look ahead
               and already mourn the loss of light.