April

It's April and the bodhi tree

Is in leaf, the old quietly leaving

For the new to arrive, with many

Branches still looking bare and even

The regular crows roosting there 

Keeping away in the mid-day sun;

You keep checking every day to see

The green leaves peeping out 

And growing larger and greener 

With the sheen more brilliant by the hour

The boys flying kites sometimes find 

Their first few flights of the season

Crashing here irretrievably as lost time ---

The drama of death and resurrection 

Enacted every year before your eyes

Is strangely reassuring as your steps falter

And you foresee your own time stopping.