Bluebells and badgers at crack of dawn!

 

I slither down among the roots

madly blue

with garlic flower  May-crowning

and the perfume,  oh!

my head and eyeballs roll

while the dog crashes

joyous through the curly bracken.

 

The sycamores poise

 ghosty, mist-wrapped

while the stream below

chants it’s crystal mantra

and the sun edges over the sea’s hyperbole

up the meadows where gulls waddle

like old age pensioners.

 

Cuckoo calls galore

hang on the molecules of Instant-Now

and I shiver in my dew-splashed feet.

 

The babies still warmly sleep

while I the fey

patrol their sacred precincts

arc’d by the white morn moon

and awe unending.

 

 

 

May 1990