Tuesday, 17 August 2021

wild strawberries

 wild 

       strawberries


the tiny fruit hidden in the hedgerows

that crush between my fingers and release

  and release

the very scent of every summer in a lifetime of moons

of milk late grasses the creamy sap of dandelions

crushed around a tartan picnic rug of dozing


wind 

        falls


that apple tart the white tablecloths of evenings 

as still as the breeze is easy upon the trees 

  that release 

the honey dew as sweet and as sticky as every invitation

for rain on the morrow of the herbaceous borders 

the flying-ant-dust paths and the drooping flowers


wait-

       -ing


for the downward flies upon the water’s dust

on the slack pools where trout are on the take

bagged heavy to supper embers remembering

  when released

the little ‘uns that arrowed up the barley stream

twisting the sunlight beyond redemption

beyond the wet returning steps of childhood 


and here

  we are 


upon the azure curling smoke off mounds of burning leaves

or the warm white breath oozing from their turning

and the yearning ahead as summer pats her petticoats 

  blushing a little

spring and autumn look the other way

crinoline a garden spider’s web-caught-stitch glistens

as we ask   are you crying

are you  ~  oh please don’t 









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