To summer island, to flower between
the onset of spring and winter decay;
womanly summer, sultry voice of jazz fire
restless as butterflies among the grass.
Listen, in the insect hum of summer
singing to herself in season content;
you hear whispers of winter withering
and sniff the first faint distant rumour
of decay, cloying every outburst of flower.
She laughs with her seasonal despair
and loves with a passion, hot as pain,
as hysteria, while she unleashes breezes
that cut through your hair in wave crests.
She will satisfy your unfurling limbs
which follow like a bloom heliotropic,
golden cycles of a radiance hypnotic /
something inside you pants to be free.
She has slipped on her dress of flowers
and dances as river light in the meadows;
she is in her element now, fruit-complete:
rain peeling away her layers to seed.
Notes:
The Isle of Purbeck is an area of ancient settlements and wild bio-diversity in the county of Dorset, southern England. To me it is part of my ancestral home ~ Wessex, the land of England’s dragon.
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