Top Heavy

In these eight weeks

I have watched the Sun

Move from low to high setting

Later each night

Light withdraws reluctantly

From the topmost reaches of this limitless sky

Filled with larks’ songs and calls of buzzards

Lifting off from the shelter of canopies

That replaced the sticky buds and blossom

Clothing spindly twigs and naked boughs

In cool green sails

That are now caught square on

In an unseasonal gale

That catches unawares

Some heavily burdened branches

Of sycamore, beech and oak

That will become broken

Because they have too much to bear


CLP 23/05/2020