POEM: Summer in Northumberland

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The rich cloying scent of fresh mown grass

That; and the showers which rejuvenate the smell

Drops of water, mirror the land in microscope

Drips, from leaf edges, in a truculent trickle.

Green, green, and greener, everywhere observed

Until the overloaded iris, can take no more

That colour, which robs silver halide of its measure

In tree, in shrub, on land, by that gentler hand.

Caressed our hills, massaged our dales and valleys

Into this majestic canvass, that no land emulates

Clouds form and shred, to entertain and inspire

These lofty patterns, in Gods eye and all unplanned?

Home made lemonade, cloudy and bittersweet

Dragonflies shoot from late noon ambush into dusk

Summer in Northumberland, high tea and buttered stottie

A dog walked in evening’s shade, forever hunting.

Finally; the cardigans unballed from wardrobe’s depth

A second skin against, the evening’s cooler embrace

Another log, spits and crackles in the cast iron grate

While fire watchers regard, imagined visions, unguarded.

Sipping hot milked tea, and stretching indolent limbs

While in the hearth, a teapot slowly infuses the next cup

The ticking clock, and it’s mechanical clicks invade the silence

Until dropping lids, and breezes whisper... “it’s time for bed.”

Adrian McRobb