A deluge in May,
Kerbside surface spray,
Torrents overwhelm
Dank country lanes.
Driving in low gears,
Waterfall chicanes,
Wrong latter ways,
Reminds me of childhood
And leaping over streams
Beneath a tarn-light bay,
Beside a dead man’s seam
In long-lost dreams
And longer lesser days.
Over there, a castle, see,
Its ghosts roam free
Through basements, attics
And these oak-pannellings
Overlooking a sodden
Village green;
Stumps received,
And sandwiches filled with
Cucumber and cheese;
The church hall leak,
Well, we can fix,
While men in linen-whites
Played winning willow innings,
Then ominous rains returned,
And a beckoning for tea.
I’m obsessed with the sounds in your poems. “Through basements, attics/ And these oak-pannellings” 😍😍😍
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Thank you so much!
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