Flora in the roadside ditch
are boasting the water-colour purple of a pride of bishops:
vetch, knapweed, clover and the rosebay willow herb;
and I would make a poem
the way old Bruckner caught a flight of migrant birds in his
Ecce sacerdos magnus. . .
for eight-part choir, key magenta, though these times the spirit
slumps, mal tended in this old country. Now
a blackcap, fast and furtive, comes to feast on the white berries
of the dogwood hedge; bullfinch,
secretive, subdued, flit in a shock of rose-petal black and white
across the alder thicket...