Sitting, looking over silver squiggles of snail trails,
sunlight making green lanterns of dandelion leaves,
rosy fire finger feeling over heavy, dangling apples,
windfalls rotting on the ground under boughs,
sunned and breezed by the kindest endowments
of late September, nodding -
Summer saying her goodbyes,
lingering in sympathy, lending an ear to all and sundry,
as they stand, glasses in hand in the little orchard
as still as saplings, wind hardly ruffling their edges,
Autumn just arriving, slipping in late to the garden party,
the two wearing exactly the same dresses, of course.
leading to an embarrassment of riches - the joy
of these twins in their white-gold sun-hats
and their yellow and red earth gowns -
I smile
in my doze, silly head on the rough table.
Imagining myself to be a long, globeful trail of seeds
dispersed and dancing free among the company.
...........
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
