illustration: Val Pedrick nee Plante |
‘Mrs Bradshaw’
beckons
her English blooms
red as poppies
wave on leggy stems
translated
into Gallic clay
Shifting shadows
deepen
shuttered window’
indigo haze, chase
gold-encrusted
lizards into
sun baked walls
A yellow oriole
haunts
the ghosts of
poplars
whisper through
cloistered groves
and a striking snake
escapes into secret
depths
Champagne-blossomed
an elder tree
amplifies
the nocturne
of a nightingale
and sunset floods
cornfields blood red
At an open window
the Englishwoman bathes
in the cool silk
of a full May moon
and listens
for the quiet river
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