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Summer solstice: for immortal hours the sun
Dazzles tarmac and field, boiling greatly
And large in the sky. Day’s eternity done,
Rises the moon like beaten pewter, stately
And
immense. Honeysuckle chivvies the lanes
With
scent, strengthened with the tang of the year’sFirst cut of silage. Men are urgent – thanes
To daylight’s drug, fixing tools, greasing gears.
The
ash has tardily leaved above hawthorn
Sudsily
frothing; nettles and grassesAre purple, stifling the curded viburnum:
Dogs dustily tumble in madcap races.
Each
morning the blatant chatter of sparrows
Rouses
streets like coins rattled in a bowl;Goldcrest flash in a larch’s dark narrows;
In brakes a pheasant dodges with his red poll.
From
waxy buttercups to black-cupped poppies
All
is profusion. The cream-cake roses –Luscious in odour – shadow gentilities
Of pot plants – marigolds and flat-faced pansies;
The
tough cascading foxglove is aloof.
Forgotten,
a stream placid over gravelTurns a waterwheel, dousing each paddle’s growth
Of wet-dark moss. Beneath its muted trundle
The water puzzles as if seeking sense;
The wheel turns without end or consequence.
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©
June 2013