Whin (or gorse), that second yellow harbinger of spring, looms large in this questioning little piece from the Welsh poet-cleric R S Thomas.

It can be found in his Collected Poems, 1945-1990 (Phoenix Press, £14.99).

THE BANK

Meditating upon gold

We prick the heart on its thorns.

Yellow, yellow, yellow hair

of the spring, the poet cries,

admiring the gorse bushes

by the old stone wall. But the maiden's

hair overflows the arms

of the hero. Though you sit down

a thousand years, the echo

of the petals is inaudible

in the sunlight. Explain to me

why we use the same word

for the place that we store our money in,

and that other place where the gorse blows.