The Cabbage White. (Completed Version)..

Simply carrying out her daily business
The Cabbage White flits from flower to flower,
Crossing the walls that separate gardens
With erratic zigzags in the hot air
That remind me of kites flown high over mountains,
The border barracks in stony gorges.

This Cabbage White could not tell the difference between
Hindu and Christian,                      Gypsy and Jew,
She just flits from green bud to fading Delphinium,
Skirting grim car parks and streets with few trees.
A fan of the sunshine she wafts her wide wings
As a child flutters flags at a football team.

Being merely human I sit out on the patio
Counting my Good Luck on ten crooked fingers,
And caring not a jot if England progresses,
To me nationhood is an own goal scheme.
My only regret, as I sit sipping cool coffee,
Is that I cannot float away in the suns slip stream.

Freedom of thought surely, is not freedom of action,
These are two very different, almost opposite things,
And sharp technocrats know this, believe you me.
I love all my old books, my poems, my paintings,
But I would lock these away if I could take to the skies
And soar unopposed over high walls and mountains.

Soar far and away without one glance behind me
At the fences, the hedgerows, at customs and excise.

Simply carrying out her daily business
The Cabbage White flits from flower to flower,
Crossing the walls that separate gardens
With erratic zigzags in the hot air.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
29th. - 30th. June 2018.