I went outside to do some yard work and saw the fruit trees were blossoming. I thoroughly enjoy the blossoming of trees each year. This year it made me feel poetic. So poetic I thought about one of my favorite A E Housman poems:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
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