February slips into March, blue
tinges on huddled hyacinths, light airs
rustle drifted leaves, Beaufort 1,2.
By mid March, the breeze is edgy, raw,
waves flags of yellow along the borders,
daffodils bow to celandine, Beaufort 3,4.
Two weeks more, a tide of green slicks
along hedgerows, blackthorn sprays lanes
with crests of seahorse white, Beaufort 5,6.
April breaks out, spindrift blossom, a spate
of oak leaves in a gale of mustard and gold
wins the race with tight-fisted ash, Beaufort 7,8.
Come May, there are no holds barred. Unkempt
tulips tumble, hawthorn foams thick as clotted cream,
invasion of bluebell mist captures slopes, Beaufort 9,10.
Midsummer: out of the eye of the storm a raging swell,
a hurricane of petals swirls, a tornado of crimson, purple, rose,
attacks senses, snatches gasps from open mouths, Beaufort 11,12.
July: disappointment; a whimpering dive
down the scale, summer subsides to common-
or-garden Beaufort 3, intermittent 5.