Over soaring seams of smooth

And finely woven cloth

I stretch out my hand and let my fingers

Touch the undulating run of green

Allowing a single finger to sketch the unfolding line

Of raised and proud gently lurking downland

Hills and meadows

I watch a distant hawk waver on shimmering waves

Of unseen sullen heat

 

Then dropping my hand to sweep across

Beaded heads of knee-high grass

And wild flowers that nod and smile

In welcome repose

I spy between my thumb and forefinger

A slivery moon which I feel I can touch

That I can pluck and pocket

But am immediately distracted by the awkward calling

Of insistent singing birds

The constant chatter of sparrows and finches

Darting between the hawthorn

Bayonets and leaves

 

I feel the creases in my face and neck

Ease as sighing I recline

Laying supine upon a bed of stalk and blade

Giving way to the soft and tinder dry

Scratched earth

And I stare up under

The bow of an ever-young oak

The texture of leaf and bark I want to

Have to hold for always

Now forever fixed in my minds gaze

Along with the egg yolk buttercups and daises

The knots of hardened bushes shaped by wind and rain

The wild wild poppies

That push themselves up between flint and chalk

A crimson dedication a shower beside

Well-worn marked tracks

These signs of summer locked in

To memories past that I recall

With all due fondness for the place of my birth