A week ago I had a fire
To warm my feet, my hands and face;
Cold winds, that never make a friend,
Crept in and out of every place.
Today the fields are rich in grass,
And buttercups in thousands grow;
I’ll show the world where I have been–
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.
Till to my garden back I come,
Where bumble-bees for hours and hours
Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums,
To wriggle out of hollow flowers.
(The last days of May have been unseasonably cold here. This poem brings comfort: no matter how chill Mother Nature may act, summer will come. God promised:
“As long as the world exists, there will be a time for planting and a time for harvest.
There will always be cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night.”
Genesis 8:22 Good News Translation