Spring in A Shiregarden
There’s a sweet scent in the air,
Colours are bursting everywhere,
Birds are nesting in the apple tree-
A day for song and dance and glee.
Tulips as crimson as a lasses’ lip,
Taste of strawberries on my tongue’s tip.
Everything’s growing in that garden of mine-
I think there’s no season as spring so fine.
The sky is so blue as forget-me-nots,
Flowers even in the most shadowy spots,
With the blackbirds I’m whistling a pretty song
As I’m planting and potting and digging along.