A wiggle of a cloud,
like a sand ripple low-tide imprint,
expresses the play of air.We eat out, on our weather-roughened table,
baked beings, in sweltering sunlight:
Cayenne, Marjoram, Paprika, Rosemary.The twitter of finches cascades opinions
glittering like water falling on a sunlit boulder,
then silence, a miraculous conjunctionbetween dog barks, Sunday roads,
train horns and children's voices,
while birds brood on their verses,Summer's emissaries travel far
back up Spring's beck to her moorland gates
to bless a primrose by the white stone...
YOU ARE READING
February And Beyond
PoetryThis ark will take me through to springtime - 'the pretty pretty ring time'.