Tuesday, 2 June 2009

TUESDAY 2nd JUNE 2009.

The sweetest green
Whose weight of grass,
From sparse to massed,
Reveals wildflower lights
With dishes tuned towards the sun
Receiving running commentary
Of summer’s progress
As it comes inflamed for June
Where it has long been absent.

In lengths arranged,
By forage gods, the stems
Are strained by seeds
And pods that beg the air
To rip them free and breeze the ears
Of other fields to settle in new
Vaulted camps until,
In autumn, cold and cramped,
They close down for the winter.

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