Let me drink my fill of Summer.

Bees, fat bees, and sponges
Of dewy roses, grasses
In flower, cows in mist,
The shape of things, the roundness,
Smoothness, fullness, spill of things,
Saucers of elder blossom,
Cups of light in nooks and dells
Of walls and boughs, and leaves
Against leaves against light, and calls
Of cuckoo, and chaffinch, and larks
Sitting on spirals of song, and clouds
Bulging and swelling, blurring and melting
Like waves and like ripples, like shadows,
And the thickness of things, the plushness
Of grass and corn, and the sun on them,
Dew on them, mist and morning,
Colour and secrets in grass and lane,
Bright leaf, bright petal, fallen or frail,
Speedwell, silverweed, poppy, and light
Through glass-thin colours and shell-thin
Blades, and the chomp and chew
Of a breathy cow, and scents
Birthless and aimless on sudden winds,
And trunks and branches in stipple, and cows
In dapple and clover and knee-deep
Buttercups wrapping like ripples of weed
Through runnelling water, and tunnels of shade,
And flickers of swallow through towers of cloud …

Let me drink my fill of Summer;
Drink and breathe to store and save
Against darkness, against the darkness
Of soul that has no season.
Published in the Anglo-Welsh Review