Rainbows and a Nightingale. Part One. (Summer 1967 Recalled).
Although it is just passed midsummer,
Wednesday the 1st. of July 2020,
The evening sky is moist, pale, autumnal,
As though the sun has succumbed to Coronavirus,
Cloud swaddled, moon white, barely functioning,
The sick star of a temporary universe.
The rain grieved air now turns my garden greyish
As though the earth, the plants, the stony pathways
Were always meant to be as drab as concrete,
Urban concrete cracked by spores and cancer. -
Home grown Loganberries, scrumptious, good to eat,
All seem to have been freaked with specks of grey,
Not one ripe fruit as healthy as it should be.
Well, tomorrow, I`m told, will be a washed out day
With lightning flashes, clouds turning noon to night,
And the birds dumb, hunched cold on dripping branches,
Trees swaying and splintering in the gusts and squalls. -
Outside, in the street, a nightingale mocks this greyness,
And I am minded of a sudden dazzle of rainbows,
An evening of double rainbows, almost a lifetime ago.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 1st. - 2nd. - 3rd. - 4th. - October 4th. 2020.
February 22nd 2021.
No comments:
Post a Comment