My Seasons

My Seasons

This is the weather the cuckoo likes, and so do I When showers betumble the chestnut spikes and nestlings fly And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at the Traveller’s Rest, And maids come forth sprig-muslin dressed, And citizens...
Need a Window?

Need a Window?

In darkness the poet needs a window ‘You speak as though No sunlight ever surprised the mind Groping on its cloudy path.’ ‘Sunlight’s a thing that needs a window Before it enters a dark room. Windows don’t happen.’ So two old poets,...