Tuesday, 19 June 2018

sunday on kilvey hill

sunday on kilvey hill

every shushed sunday morning high
on kilvey hill under a skylark sky
duncan and peter his corgi and i 
heatherward upward until lunch is nigh 

old walls lizard-stoned and grey
or tussocked white with grass and hay
there often in statue the hare did lay
or a fox curled up sleeping off the day

past the soggy-sock marsh in reed
past the suck-shoe marsh indeed
first bomb-hole pool bound in weed
second bomb-hole pool scarfed indeed

every hushed sunday morning high
above the village that smoking sty
where the industrial psalmists rumble and i 
and we knew anon the end is nigh

but ne’er say never ne’er say nay
for cometh the hour cometh the day
when we can stay and stay
and mature of youth we will say

that we cannot of this sulphur bleed
or over the glassy slag tips indeed
spill youth’s angst or take a heed
for tomorrow in its numbing greed

we under these heather walls and sky
we will overstay and overstay 
and as any two boys in their need will say
we are off home full-pelt for lunch is nigh 

lunch under kilvey hill

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