Sun scintillae through hedge-top
by back-lit yew's fringed silhouette.
White-glare southeast deeps
to indigo west -
sky gulps down a contrail.
Apple-treeful of mnemonic sparrows:
"Come on, old man-twit. Fill it. Fill feeder!"
"Do, do. Do so," a pigeon backs them.
Blackbird perches high thorn prong,
chesting full sunlight.
I fancy a thought in his eye-blink, even now
way over white-gold of this weak winter,
rehearsing spring.
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...
