WINDS that fanning close and byre
Scarce the fading leafage stir;
Scarlet berries on the briar,
Each a rose’s sepulchre.
Crimson portents in the sky,
Curlews calling on the wold,
Ferns and gorse that lowly lie-
Tattered lace and trampled gold. ‘
Clouds that darken harebell shades
Into deepest amethyst;
Fruited brambles, forest glades
Dumb with moss and dim with mist.
Fields of stubble wan and weird,
Where the fretful corncrakes croon,
And the summer’s soul ensphered
In the low-hung harvest moon.
(David Gow)
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Based on Topics: Gold Poems, Summer PoemsBased on Keywords: fruited, harebell, curlews, leafage, portents, low-hung, ensphered, corncrakes