Sing, old hills, your ancient song,
Of tit and thrush and sparrow,
As Spring's meek sun paints gold
Bare trees clawing hungrily
Upon this empty heaven.
While Autumn rots forgot where
Winter laid her silver stoles,
Praise new things and dance
Over brook and fen and meadow,
Alive for one more Summer's roar.
18th February, 2018
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
