The sun came back today
to sing with solstice crickets,
storms a memory, echoing
in water-shining ditches,
tall grass rising in a golden wave.
The sun came back today,
but no one walks this lane to watch
the swaying green, the bend behind
which rises oak on oak that wind,
a path through unmown meadows.
The sun came back but not the stream
of walkers, walking just because
they can, though they never did before,
never felt the urge to see what lies beyond
the last house in the town.
The sun brought summer but the thrill
of green has palled, the changing hues
too subtle, birdsong all the same,
and now the wheels are freed
other horizons beckon.
The sun returns, dew glitters,
and birds sing to new-washed sky,
lane winds in stillness between the oaks,
their heavy sails
billowing in the empty air.
|Bio & Link|
|My origins are in Irish fields, now living in French fields, writing and learning who is singing what. https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/|