Sunday Poem

Where White Foxgloves .....

I had seen the bright
auburn coat of the fox
lit by an opalescent moon
and the wild grass quiver.

I had seen white foxgloves
mark as pebbles of pearl
the lie of the lair
in the glare of the mid day sun.

I had seen, for a brief moment,
the jay soar to roost
in early evening, and gasped
at the marvel of sunset plumage.


Colour was the clue, so clear,
so periwinkle blue,
amidst a puff of down,
with sharp black bar lines
marking the plummet of the jay
where white foxgloves grow.

AS