Softened black ground under foot

Smell of hot tar and spring

Has come; buttermilk white

The blackthorn sprays

On the lips of iron-age ditches.

Primroses speckle their green banks

New scarring earth’s old wounds.

Lanes exhale tang of burning old -wood;

Through this  perfume ,rare as sandalwood ,

I   wend the road  that leads 

beyond these hills

Towards the sun of other days ,

when you were summer.

Now  ,unfrozen by your season ,

 I awaken to the ache

Of desire .Not salted by reason,

nor yet bone-dried by the drought

of touch ,I seek you raw as I was

When side-by-side first we stood ,

Ready to bleed for our  heyday’s

Golden deceptions.

Together we challenged the scythe ,

Defiant of times’  separation.,

Together we fell,

Shall we, together ,

grow again ?.