There is a May, rained on most of this day,
dancing in her dress of white and green
(chestnut candelabra embroidery
over verges of wild parsley,
hawthorn blossom,
lawn crowded with daisies,
leaning seed globes -
easier their stitching, depicted in the rain,
the clumped and draggled globes on her hems,
rain splattered all day, breeze tousled,
'Coochie-coo!' over pearl-dropped grass).
There is a May can't keep from singing all the day,
breaking out in snatches of her tunes;
and when the evening comes, she croons,
and then bird-flutes play to her bare feet,
sidestepping, blue veined in soaked grass,
swaying her gown, hoiked-up a little ways.
'Doh ray me fah so... so fah...'
'So far she traveled
to be here; so far must go,' she indicates
in silent mummery, offering a petaled smile -
to the world's rim,
or just to its wings.
There is a May - out there. In here...
I just don't know.
............................
I know that the band, Magpie Lane (in the media), are singing of May-day; but really the fullness of the walls of green and the blossoming of the May (hawthorn) were much later here, this year, at least.
