Ooh! Hullabaloo then, winds.
Blow it! But I'll wear no hat today,
nor need my hood while you scud
these grey and white clouds away.
Sway empty thorns;
agitate bearded yews to expostulate,
tousle and rough your cuffs
scintillant along a shining hedge
one sun-flared, sun-snuffed minute dulls;
tip exulting gulls to veer sheer;
rip-roar it up and down the resonant sticks;
loose-ruck it about the neighborhood;
shake the expeditionaries of February:
raspberry canes have broken their brown seals;
privet is leafing, ambition renewed;
wavy bittercress white-stipples greened ground;
dandelions triple their number;
and still the groundsel flowers
that stayed the winter.
Even with your chill, they chill well here
from fourteen sweet degrees.*
Gum them well
you toothless gale; it so transpires it's swell
you clear the saturated air.
.....................
*Celsius. Winds aid transpiration.
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...
