Wearing White for Eastertide

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide,

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A.E.Housman

Spring in my Cumbrian garden. Not cherry, but amelanchier - and in a few fleeting days the blossom will be gone; already it is littering the lawn with its confetti.

And under the tree, self-seeding forget-me-nots revel in their profusion.