Robin rinse rain-feathered air
and twitter glitter under his tinsel,
sparrowed there, true-blue
pigeons through that fuse;
but rain-feathers beat
to drizzle wings and gust
droplets peck at my scalp
before their worn storm subsides.
And am I wise?
And why
under these grey skies to sip
rain diluted coffee, cooled,
as my words fur?...
I am taking a cold shower outside,
it seems, while you choose one of steams,
indoors in the warm,
away from rain-arrow-rattle on privet,
Tommy-quarrels of finches.
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...
