Spring again – a second Fall
when beech leaves long-attached now fly,
released at last, as bronzèd spears
of new growth stud the branches.

Interspersed, in hedges trim,
the hawthorn offers a million jagged hands,
inviting all who will to enter and
partake of paper-thin and succulent mesophyll.

Unnoticed in the bramble tangle
a golden pigmy clings, tiny bejewelled wings
braced against the April wind, scented.
Waiting for union.

Past the bursting hawthorn and the bramble floats
a brown beech leaf, scarred with kiss-mark
of midget. Still there, an alien doll
flying before it’s flown in all its tiny tiger-striped glory.

130808S3549b Phyllonorycter maestingella

[Edited 11 Dec 2016: new title and punctuation.]