An English Summer

Swaying sunflowers and trimmed privet hedges.

A woodland brook reflecting slanting sunshine,

a country walk whilst swatting veils of tiny, nipping midges;

in  adjoining fields, the sound of  a working combine

A magpie’s plumage imprinting its colours as it soars  high overhead.

And early morning sky with dew still glistening on the grass.

A field of ‘in memorium’  poppies vivid, vibrant, red….

Like silent symbolism of a death en masse.

Silvery cuckoo spit from the nymphs of sap sucking insects.

The smell of meadow flowers wafting through already ‘cut grass’ air.

Fresh cut flowers laid in graveyards offering loving respects

from people left behind to show how much they  all still care.

The church spire points its way to heaven through the cloudless azure sky

And  the reedy  sound of  choirs practising in Jubilatus Dei.

A vision of pollen covered legs of busy bees goes buzzing by,

 In nearby parks the sounds of happy childrens play.

Excited, yapping dogs, trying to catch some unseen foe.

Whilst owners meet and greet and chat awhile.

Faintly in the distance, the  drone of mowers on the mow,

familiar voices meeting and  embracing in a smile.

Scotch eggs, pork pies and a sausage roll  laid on a  tartan mat,

and thermos tea to wash down strawberry jam and cream filled scone,

The sound of leather on willow and restrained calls of  ‘owzat’!

All timeless memories through  passing years.. yet never gone!

Authors note …our transatlantic poets might not have sampled the delights of scotch eggs and pork pie…a dream yet to be fulfilled maybe?