Thursday, 21 May 2009


Looking back
At the tracks
Left in the blossom covered path where your pram passed
I noted some
Buds floating
From the tall tree stems through open window frames,

And people,
By the steeple
Of the run down church, were trying to stay alert
In order
To ward the
New seasons beading for good housekeeping reasons;

In motions
By the boisterous traffic the last of spring’s ashes
Spiral down
In idle bounds
And gather till swept by those out collecting,

But where left
To the breath
Of negligent winds they lay and bind
And print
The things
That for this single morning called after falling.

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