Monday, 24 September 2018

the cradle of the day

hourglass halved at autumn equinox,
we walked the roof of gower, wild
with gentle ponies and cows at cud,
and not a sound or fellow walker
did rustle the whitening grass, or nudge
the gorse kissed flowers shottled mauve
with heather; bedazzling a fungal crown
that has mistaken this indian summer’s day 
for autumn afoot, in mist, free-roaming 
down the haze, that on this wine-clear day is
becalmed above the enchanting oxwich bay.
and falling footsure down through crawley woods,
creeping and red-berried, mossed-dank,
tree-tunnelled on the sandy path 
to the open delta dunes, and tor bay, 
set fair at half way down the day,
and lunch seated on the low water rocks,
where a last lost butterfly jigs 
to a summer out of tune.
the bluest blue, the whitest white
smoke-signal pods that ride
the sun on this perfect, perfect day.
the end of a long walk back to when
the days were, as a child’s days were,
sweet beyond recompense; and here
i will rest my soul, until such time,
as a day such as this, comes around 
to visit just one more time this life, and
oh lordy, lordy, me, is that the time!?
coffee and cake awaits at pennard stores, 
before the buggly bus chuggly chugs
to doze us back home again
lost in the cradle of the day.

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