The muted tin like tune of an ice cream van,
Joins the relentless buzz of lawnmowers.
Shed doors are slowly creaked open,
And cobwebbed garden tools are clanged.
In the newly budding tree birds twitter impatiently,
Mindful of the meal hopefully to come.
But wary of the children bouncing balls off walls,
Who scream and refuse to wear their hats.
Mums pursue their offspring brandishing sun tan lotion,
While dads ponder and wonder where to weed first.
Decisions are delayed and cold lager cans click open,
As spring returns to the street.
Due to the fantastic spring sunshine the UK enjoyed over the weekend I spent a lot of time in the garden either tending to the attrition it had suffered over the autumn and winter or chasing my daughter around. While I was out there I was struck by the thought that the season of spring I was enjoying had a background beat, it was if my neighbourhood had come to life now the sun had come out. With all this in my head the following poem struggled out over Sunday and Monday and for lack of imagination I call it “ Spring beat