7 am in Regent’s Park or A.E.Housman revisited
Loveliest of trees, the cherries now
Are hung with bloom along the bough,
And stand about the Parkland wide,
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Forget the threescore years and ten:
Eighty-two won’t come again,
And now that I’ve clocked up fourscore,
That only leaves me wanting more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Centuries are little room,
About the Parklands I still go
To see the cherries hung with snow.