05-20-2015, 12:55 AM
The sun has lost; the gloss of day
has weathered into grieving gloom.
Wind-whipped, the ravens scull the air;
a raucous ride on swell of storm.
Against glass-grey, proud clouds parade,
plucked and unravelled from below
by fussing fingers' nervous tugs
until threadbare, the bladders burst
to stain the bright horizon's line.
Pollen smokes from rape fields flailed,
near swathed by hail. Too early
for the seed to form, grim farmers eye
the acres lost and slip a sigh.
Familiar plight, but when to sow?
May Days were June days years ago.
tectak
May 2015
has weathered into grieving gloom.
Wind-whipped, the ravens scull the air;
a raucous ride on swell of storm.
Against glass-grey, proud clouds parade,
plucked and unravelled from below
by fussing fingers' nervous tugs
until threadbare, the bladders burst
to stain the bright horizon's line.
Pollen smokes from rape fields flailed,
near swathed by hail. Too early
for the seed to form, grim farmers eye
the acres lost and slip a sigh.
Familiar plight, but when to sow?
May Days were June days years ago.
tectak
May 2015