This is one of the better Spring poems we have found. It puts an interesting take on the whole changing of seasons, progression through a year, subject. The discussions and thoughts which came from the Barracuda with this one were definitely some of the better ones we have had.


The Trees by Phillip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
like something almost being said;
the recent buds relax and spread
their greenness is a kind of grief.




Is it that they are born again
and we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
is written down in rings of grain.


Yet still the unresting castles thresh
in full grown thickness every May.
Last year is dead they seem to say
begin afresh, afresh, afresh.