The whitethorn is alight
Soon branches will be hiding places
The pheasant teasing the dog
The silent stream turns rampant
There is singing in the trees
The ring that protects me
I will not be broken
While I have this walk
Two lovers pointing out a branch
That holds a sparrow
A wren floundering
A young fisherman
With an impossible task
I await the budding of the daffodil
