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.