If a shade with me stays
Into the blinding light of noon
A vigorous ghost it must be,
Mingling with the frosted air which
Still remains under the apple tree's boughs.
I am creasing the grasses into clean folds
So the dandelions can enjoy their thrones.
I am contemplating the trees still skeletal;
my mind becomes a blanket for their new leaves.
Does the shade still remain
Somewhere in the corners,
Perhaps keeping spring onions company?
Or has it flown into the grey-orange sky
Awaiting the indigo cape of night?
