May, 2015. East Kent and Montrichard, France.

If Mayday was our wedding day
These years and decades gone
In place of June, when cornflowers bloom
And sun’s eye unblinking shone
Then I’d find snowdrops, and crocus bed
In some deep wood, in tall grass spread
To weave a garland for your head
Weave a garland for your head.

If Mayday was our wedding day
When we were young and bold
When flowers fell from your print dress
And marched across the field
You’d kick each sandal from your feet
And all among the celandines sweet
This grassy bank would make our seat
Grassy bank would make our seat.

Yet Mayday is our wedding day
The whole earth tells me so
These cherry trees’ bright candy floss
Falls at our feet like fluttering snow
Soft winds and rain from their grip coax free
Such tender clumps of bloom that we
Are happy wreathed again in confetti
Happy wreathed again in confetti.

© Peter Sinden