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2016 Summer’s ending, Ribchester.
BY A BROOK
I cannot drink refreshment from the brook
To moisten there her phrases as she slips,
But stoop to where the probing Speckled Wood
Sips liquid jewels that moisten poet's lips.
Her light a magic flashes up the stream
In silver veins, arterial rippling shades,
All diamond-chased with threads in crannied gleams
As stillness listens where her music plays.
BESIDE A WOOD
A parent laid below her infants’ boughs
Now peels her bark’s old ringlet silvered coils
And hosts a feast dissolving festering hours:
Betula, bearing richness to the soil...
Above's a verdure, loveliest of green:
Peduncle oaks cup-cluster acorn sheen!
BY A MEADOW
As umbers burn the stanchion of the dock
Crisping and crumbling with a thousand seeds
The succulence of summer seals her lock
And hastens on the dieing of her green;
Across her meadow comes there shepherding
The running sheep all newly let to graze
And by her stave a Shepherdess, she sings
And feasts upon this magic as I gaze;
'cross ribbling vales, on wooded brows
Sweet meadows crop, beneath the chewing cud
Who've never known the furrow or his plough
Nor Harrows' Rests to stop the churning sod:
Seasons alone her tapestry renews
And random croppings of her grazing ewes.
Oh Come again, and wander weaving there
To see betwixt the pages of a book
New woven thoughts from threads that nature wears,
When they have passed, to lend an endless look!