Ne’er Cast a Clout….

Profuse, perfumed, panoplied
Frilled, froth-filled
May.
Hawthorn, harsh thorn.
Burgeoning into
Bread and cheese –
Panacea
From times remembered,
Remedies recalled,
Ailments forgot.
Ne’er cast a clout, some say.
I walk, soaking in senses,
Baring arms to strengthening spring.
Overwhelmed by
The sheer inevitability of May.

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