Hawthorn in the spring
mayflowers becomes **** thorn
rimed with the frost of her blossom.

Promiscuous with bees
hawthorn grows fast in the summer
straining for sky and full of life
green leaf abundance
and sap surging strong for the sun
quick as opposed to dead

Quick thorn in autumn
scatters her largesse of leaf fall
embers the hedgerows
with blood drops
seed store mouse nibble
food for redwing and fieldfare

Quick thorn in winter stripped of her green
stands naked but strong
combing cold winds
(which you can hear sing through her teeth)
her branches armed and spiky fingers
flung up in derision at the north and darkness
for nothing keeps her down
she will keep coming.