Wild Blows the Willow
Spring comes and it goes...
when lilac halos ring the trees,
and a skylark sings its promises
of evenings, wrapped in silk...
breeze-dried, a nightgown
on the line, strains to break free
as Painted Ladies flit, skittishly by
kissing star-studded hedgerows.
Cimmerian grow the days...
I am content to stay inside, head
on your lap – dreaming next to you;
glad, perhaps, of the respite, winter brings...
A piano stands silent in the half-light;
fingers, not as quick as once they were,
yet tunes live on in the rafters of our home...
hand-cut, in the heady days of June.