Blackthorn Blossom

There's white blossom on black thorn.
Tides rise but the sea is calm
And dark cliffs loom less forlorn.

The time of year when lambs are born
And, offering its Easter balm,
There's white blossom on black thorn.

Fields are green with winter corn,
A patchwork spreads from farm to farm
And dark cliffs loom less forlorn.

The soil is red where ploughs have torn
The home of worms; the keen gulls charm
Like white blossom on black thorn.

Spring is fresh, where winter's worn.
Frost loses bite, its potent harm,
And dark cliffs loom less forlorn.

Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn;
Little Bo Peep, no need for alarm:
There's white blossom on black thorn
And dark cliffs loom less forlorn.

villanelle © Celia Warren 2012