The breeze blows
A little cooler today
The weather programme
Had the talk of thunder
Nevertheless
The evening primrose
Opened her petals
And the insects moved
More workmanlike
About the concrete flags
I forget
That I am on holiday
That for today
These words
Are not my work
That the birdsong
Is the echoed cry
Of a freedom
Already found
What is to become
Of my poetry
Who can say
Or would see
Why he or she
Should dwell awhile
Take time to look out
Over the Pampas Grass
Think of the Riviera
At home or abroad
Recall strolls
On long promenades
Or visits
To the winter gardens
Afternoons at the air shows
Balloons with passengers
And pink champagne
The hedgehog
Is back into hiding
It has had its three
Minutes of fame
Now time for the white
Crested blackbird
And another flower
That I am unable to name
Only that it is green &
Yellow and white
Impregnated
With garlands
Of crimson &
Hanging claret
Such an endorsement
That would look well
On the dance-floor
I am reminded
Of Saturday nights
Of mohair suits
And chisel toe shoes
Of warm nights
With sensual conversation
I pause
Before the applause
Of the cool morning breeze
Taken from the collection Words in Aspect South Facing - Available from Amazon for Kindle