By
July
We are rather formally attired
for country pursuits in the ducal woods;
August
me with a tie and you, I uncover,
with white suspenders and matching knickers.
September
Intimate stranger, forever touching
for your least kindness, forever surprising;
October
unpredictable as light, you bring
my heart from hiding again and again!
November
Earth warms. Ice melts. Seas rise. And nothing,
everything changes. Each day, we marvel.
December
Still flowering, for our wintry birthdays,
are fuchsias, geraniums, a rose.
January
As the tide turns, we watch snow drifting
landward over fields, woods, hilltops.
February
We turn for home – and, in the dark border
beneath the ivy, find the first snowdrop.
March
Our camellia flowers: hardy, exotic.
Palaces are stormed. Governments fall.
April
Somewhere the wind is always blowing.
We make our house tight against all weathers.
May
A solitary swift arrives, gliding,
banking, silent. Our daughter is born.
June
And verdant England is replete with bird song,
with that hushed stirring, that old, old promise.
AprilAugustBook of HoursDecemberducalEnglandFebruarygovernmentsJanuaryJulyJuneknickersMarchMayNovemberOctoberpalacesSeptembersuspendersverdantwintry.
What do you think?