Twins

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Philip Larkin

A gorgeous day - crisp and clear and  we went off for an earlyish walk around the lake, taking it at a steady pace in view of Himself's hip - he has a scan on Thursday. He's been glued to the rugby and I've been catching up with myself.