A documentary account of what I saw today on my way to work (yes, May is easier to rhyme than April)

It was a rare sunlit day:
The Scottish gloom, the Scottish mist
Forgotten while the flowers of May
Burned red and yellow in the midst
Of emerald lawns, of ‘grass more green’
Indeed than any ‘in gardens here’.

Bright spring! But who tastes your delight?
Does every eye perceive your sheen,
Or this blue sky’s new-born warm light?
Does bird-song fall on every ear?

I see the children throng the path:
Amidst the flowers they laugh and play.
I see the coffin slowly pass:
The hearse is decked with flowers of May.