Like sunshine stealing into a foreign room, few bruised mums, in white and gold

Embroider the threshold over Which a reluctant and shy April enters with a promise

Of earth opening once again, After the long winter’s incubus Of sleep and forgetting.

The absence of hunger is Another hunger itself. This the mums know

As they unravel, petal By petal, on the cool wooden Floor, on which he paces

Expectant, waiting.