Not Letting On

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You'd never know
that ice and snow
had come and gone -
no letting on:

in five degrees
beneath these trees
the midges dance,
twine their entrance;

small flies, their wings cream fur,
stately through stillness burr;
the breeze is rare
stirs fawn stalk there.

From lunch-time playground,
primary cries resound -
usual high excitement
lessons soon must dent.

Finch sits on a ledge
his bets to hedge:
"Buy, peep, then twist -
not bust, I insist!"

Small birds skirl and chanter,
jibe and banter;
the pigeons too
must feature in who's who.

In the roll call, a clause
of lorry judder and bus roars;
a helicopter thrashes
crass metallic mashes.

Silence of a kind ensues
before neighborhood renews
its selving: thrums, yelps, cries
under sun-cracked skies.




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