Tuesday, 13 May 2014

On the beech

I don’t think I’ve ever seen
Anything quite so green
As the sublime lime leaves -
Luminous, almost numinous,
Against an azure blue sky -
Of a Maytime beech tree:
Which always seems to beseech me
To sit with mossy bottom,
Back against bark,
Staring up into a translucent, stained-glass canopy;
Transported into tree-time…

… Until my reverie, and greenery, is broken
By fluttering blue butterfly wings,
Like a fragment from the cobalt carpet of bluebells
Lifting up from dusky earth and ascending into emerald radiance.

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