A sorry state this post-Christmas garden;
a sopping month of it has left the grass
verdant enough for pasture
_______________________ but hoof-sluice
would soon make a mud-tread of it
_____________________________ and so
I'm glad it's only cat's paws and bird claws
by turns press grass -
__________________blackbird pecks old windfall
now, then hop-flaps into hedge and safety.
By rights, the tall, old nettles should be bare;
but no frost has told them off grey away
and so their sparser green sheen leaf array
looms over largely yellowed raspberry.
The town bell tolls but not for wing-furred dots -
flies who navigate with ease in still air;
and the gulls are about their own business
flying from some nowhere to some nowhere,
while you suffer the slow train from London.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
ПоэзияIt'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...
