These mild days bake no ecstasies, but swoon
of hawthorn trails them and inheres,
now with raunching elderflower.
Sprung lush of thigh-high grass -
in mid-May's jungle nothing seres.
Under grey sail, armadas pass
(some empire impulse set them on their hour)
and rain will hasten the apical soon.
After long lull the gusts must try a shake,
set blackbird singing hidden;
down he flies, unbidden,
to drink, untroubled, as I scrawl you this;
then back cascading diamond bliss
as from grey shadows only he can wake.
....................
It's a fourteen line overgrown garden song (in an old style 'Donne' before) of varying line lengths - 'Of my own invention' as a white knight might say to an Alice.
The 'apical' refers to the 'apical meristem' - growing points in plants, pushing up ;)
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PoetryThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
