Mons Venus Poem by Gordon R Menzies

I have seen the first greenlings rise
in the oak wood, the whispering of moss
happily drinking poor winter's last cup
held to green lips with sun-silvered fingers
I have watched the warblers returning
the insects writhe, and soar and fall
in their endless hundreds, transient
I have touched a sleeping tree, waking
the earth here is wet in the shadows
wet like a willing woman, free, fertile
longing for summer seed and flowers
you can hear her sighs in the birdsong
calling her belly to the high swelling
the fragile moss glows with moisture
like a picnic of dewdrop fairy orbs
spread for all on Mons Venus