Whit Sunday Morning 2020.

Today is Pentecost, I change my coat
From winter wear to summer wear,
From a navy dye to a lighter colour,
Throw out the loose change from my pockets
And leave them empty of all but hope.

Today is Pentecost, the late Spring flowers
Spread across the garden pathways
Hiding the brutal slabs of concrete.
I tip toe carefully between green fronds
Not wishing to crush them beneath my boots.

Today is Pentecost, gusts of wind
Bend my rose trees, rattle the fences,
Lift slates and tiles from my neighbours roofs;
The old world seems to be falling apart
On this very morning of renewal.

I scrub my old coat in the kitchen
Then hang it out on the line to dry.
Today is Pentecost, the morning sun
Burns my face as I look to the skies.
Suddenly I clap my hands and sing.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
31st. May 2020.