In the garden
22 days on from the lights and sirens
it is quiet.
Spring sunshine precedes tomorrows storm.
The crocus choir sings in colour
its open mouthed chorus of royal purple
savouring the sun.
Across the lawn,
as if foes at some international rugby match,
the clumps of daffodils
still trumpet, in yellow,
their St David's day celebrations.
The only sounds are the voices of colours
or the occasional sparrow in cheerful chirping
or a gull in its complaining.
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