Summer 1941

The sleepy foxglove casteth down

His satin petals – dappled brown

and black, on curves of softest pink.

with bubbling sigh some slowly sink

Into the pebbled waters clear.

While others, gaily floating, steer

A carefree course mid sunbeams pale;

Enchanted boats for bees to sail

And freckled moths with tired wings.

A hunchéd spider slowly swings

His trembling thread across the stream,

To where the purple iris gleam

- Their petals ribbed with pallid bands

Of silver white. The green plumed reeds

Go follow where the river leads,

Up and down and away across

‘Twixt shelving banks, where birch trees toss

Their painted leaves in solemn glee

At their reflected majesty.

Weary willows droop dejected,

Trailing tresses, long neglected,

Idly ‘mong the ripples lie …..

And where the forest meets the sky

The echoed trilling of a bird

Down twilight's transcept throbs unheard.

And, like a full moon in the ground,

The yellow mushroom, broad and round,

With sturdy stalk*, grows in the shade

Of moss-bound oaks, whose trunks have laid

Cowled shadows on the earth through years

Long gone. A wide-eyed thrush appears –

With scuttling hop and tail atilt –

From ‘neath the holly, that has built

A prickly protective wall,

Where tinted spike-stemmed brambles sprawl

And nettles grow, with unsheathed lance  …..


*Poetic licence!


(Summer 1941)