"The Trees" by Philip Larkin

I thought a poem about Spring might be appropriate considering it is supposed to be Spring even though I had to use my ice scraper to remove frost from my car windows this morning.

The Trees

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, from High Windows, 1974 Faber and Faber)