One Day in Late Summer
I sat here in the Spring, and watched
The brimstones drinking in the primroses.
The air was filled with expectation
For a Summer that had everything to come.
And now, the shadows, lengthening, provide cool spots
For sleepy dogs, and swelling berries on the bough.
The weeds set seed and paraglide to earth.
For here, we leave to Nature planting out.
The pigs-ear tree has sent its suckers out
Until they form a tiny spreading glade.
I am amazed that I can still sit on the swinging seat,
As yet not swallowed by the creeping wood.
Perhaps it likes me to observe how impotent I am.
But I will laugh the last when husband John
Dons goggles and arrives rampaging in
On sit-on mower, ready to clash swords
With brambles, ivy and the pigs-ear brood.
No prisoners for maybe a weekend.
Winter will come, and then all starts again.
©Ruth Twyman Lockyer August 2013