Alexander in the cow parsley
You want them to love what you loved.
A boy heart-deep in white flowers,
Tries to touch each umbel with his little finger
As I hurry him along the hedgerow late for school.
A love of weeds is a useful thing.
A secret cache, a wooden box
That’s a jack-in-a-box of delight
Leaping up at the touch of May.
An annual joy,
Forgotten in yellow August and grey January
To be rediscovered when you need it most.
Then you are swept up in the rush, the overspill
Of green and white:
Cow parsley, may blossom, jack-in-the-hedge
Embellishing the lanes,
Bursting forth, reaching out, vying with each other, now now
To fill the world with a froth of white
To the furthest edges of your vision.