Spring left her golden cloak behind her,
It's suspended in the branches of a tree
Plain to see in the woods of Coolnaleen,
Out of sight deep below the rising road
Beside the stream that's calming down
And gently falls to every eddying pool,
Waiting for the transformation to begin.
She must have dropped in here this year
To tell each budding bluebell to appear.
Matt Mooney
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-golden-cloak/
