Hear at the corner
Horse chestnuts seethe and whisper
Shoulder to shoulder,
White-decked frocks billowing in wind.
They trade their rumours,
Swap their slanders of the world
And see the shameless sunset
Flaunting in her orange dress,
Brash with everything’s she’s got.
They nod and mutter again
Shivering in anticipation
At night’s advance upon her crimson gash
Shocked at the ravishment of her sky,
They brace themselves
When darkening colours kiss,
‘Well, fancy that,
Just fancy that, ‘ they hiss.
Refer to: Apr 2020 – Sermons in stones
Those old gossips – but one day they’ll drop their skirts and be strung up by schoolboys. The image of night ravishing the dying day is striking – does it occur in mythology?