A May Crowning Poem by Martin Ward

Fruit trees don their gowns
in turn to attend the bees.
'Pretty please, '
they call The Queen
and Her Workers.
The promise made
of what will come
later in the year.

Confetti petals
falling at Her feet:
plum, cherry, pear,
then apple blossoms.
They wear The Crown
that honours Mary
in April, through to May.

Nature, a verdant pleasure
and treasure sent from God,
springs to salute The Virgin,
clothed in purest white.

Incense of nature,
censer swirled
by thurible flowers,
fill our senses
in Mary's Month of May.

Carried on the breeze;
singing through fresh trees:
birds and eddies
rippling above and below
through new found hazes.
May: The Promise;
The Month; The Jewel
that Crowns Our Lady.

Speak to me; sing to me;
dazzle me joyfully
in your brightest vestments:
Testament to The Living God.

Each year, as the seasons turn,
she comes again: the earth reborn;
familiar in Her finery.
Joyfully greeted
as if we too are called
to start again.