On this day of flowers, the animals follow

The usual path of the sun

Ripples coagulate like water,

All manner of things mirror our big brother sun

On this shining  Ἀρκαδία of August 1941.

.

Sweet airs fill the breezes

Forgotten summer scents,

O! The billowing of  intent

Reed and oak and beech

This beautiful canopy of the living green,

Shimmering in this too bright light

Thunder clouds swarm

Rumble out of sight.

 

I climb this vertiginous cliff path,

Which connects the now and then,

See in all its chasmal beauty.

The brightest of stars

On the blackest of nights.

On this holyday  this crookedness of intent

is an abomination, a defilement  and disgrace

That leaves the gates of heaven firmly closed

And the gates of hell a crowded place.