When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day.A Poem by JohnL
When You Come To the End of a Perfect Day
The green beneath my feet
glows warm in the afterglow of a perfect day
while sleepy wasps and bees
buzz – but softly – softly,
reluctant yet from sugared flowers to fly away;
arboured honey is suckled,
buddleia has yielded up its golden hoard
delighting hover-fly
butterfly, as even I
move my mind toward rest, this perfect eve’.
A gentle, song of the night
A nocturne – drifts from somewhere
Perhaps it lives inside my head - (they do, you know)
A night-bird sits above, ‘Night Music’ to share,
gentler even than its own sweet song.
All is at peace – peace rare in human throng,
yet welcome as I sit – and sip a sweetling brew,
weathered, heathered where other bees have supped and sipped
On moorland hill and island stream, which purled
And grew – and drew;
sweet water of the north, whose peat-imparted flavours now endue
my glass with cheer, then lull me
Into the stillness of the night,
wakening me – late - with cooling, soft-descending dew.
John L. Berry, 19 August 2009.
© 2009 JohnLAuthor's Note
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