Today,
Waking early, I reached for Elizabeth.
But, finding Robert, I read of death
And how the May
Left him bereft.
I am drowning in envy of Browning
For he so well caught
How short
Is our May.
For all things must fade away.
Death leaves friends bereft.
Yet poetry remains
To soothe our pain.
K Morris - Poet 
May lasts for such a short time, Kevin. I’m now into December, but I remember May and the blossoms with bees buzzing, and running through the fields picking flowers. (It wasn’t illegal then!)
Indeed it does, Vivienne. Whilst I’m not quite in my December, I do, as the poet says, “hear time’s winged chariot hurrying near”. I do remember making (or attempting to make) daisy chains as a boy and picking Four Leaved Clover.
Indeed it does.
Thank you for your comment, Liz. As always, I very much appreciate it.
You’re welcome, Kevin.