Yesterday's raw winds
ceded to a stillness
soaked after rain again -
the beads and splatters,
little flies sparse, but whisking,
privet thinning for winter:
in deeper recesses,
lanceolate golds,
(accompany lobed thorn);
its black, berry bunches
jutting where they flowered
that pungent midsummer.
Rot eats raspberry leaves -
a delicate brown, brushed
over brittling jaune.
Upon ridge tiles, the Aten,
full disc not yet rooftop-cut,
dazzles out to pearl the beads.
Peregrine powers over,
black into the blinding.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
