Summer's quickening; Spirit's rising

The sharp hard ridge of winter's passed.
The king has died his little death
And Queen Mab's belly's rising,
Pregnant with the coming spring.

No longer hurried by Antarctic winds,
I tarry over laundry,
Watching baby skinks a-scurrying
Round the dangerous sanctuary of shoes.

Don't worry babies, I'll take care!
Warm sun soaking my back,
I hang out panties and spensers
Like fresh, clean, white shoots.

Above me in the long wands
Of the coral trees,
Green parrots tussle red petals,
Squeaking and squawking.

Dark spirits rising;
Light at last!