unseasonable warmth
petite clouds
white buds pinned to infinite blue
fine grass blades grass by the millpond
prick my pale winter skin
my flat weight crumples daisies
in cool shade
of the willow’s weeping
tumble of the waterwheel
low hum of bumble bees
chiffchaff
chiffchaff
chiffchaff
with eyes closed I see all
the birds I hear
from within this sonorous wall
soft notes
a woman’s song
so tired
so tired
so tired
my head so heavy it cannot turn
my eyelids stuck down by pinks and blues
my arms so heavy they will not move
my legs feel bound they cannot run
my voice clasped tight within my throat
I hear her singing
she sings of lilac
yet to bloom
she sings of lambs
not yet sprung
she sings of hedgerows
nestlings yet to fledge
she sings of the stream
yet to flood
she sings of oak
still to leaf
she sings of the summer
yet to burn
she sings of two lovers
yet to meet
she sings of harvest
we’ve yet to reap
she sings of apples
we’ll collect
she sings of mists
that will rise from dew
she sings of the plough
that will tear the earth
she sings of crows
that will draw in the night
she sings of frost
that will veil the soil
she sings of the fireplace
as autumn leaves
so tired
so tired
so tired
slowly I wake
remembering
how far I must go
before I finally reach
my home
~
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2022 Day Twenty-five prompt: write an aisling.
CLP 25/04/2022
Voyage des Mots 