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While, at the last outpost of its empire,

a blackbird sounds reveille and, next door,

red admirals repose in buddleia,

something of summer, caught in the early air

and gathered, a lightness, perfumed, bold,

is touching narrow, walled-in gardens

where, high over houses epochs old,

wood pigeons flute in maples and a thrush,

lost in the snows of a pear tree, cuts notes

like glass. Neglected blossom lights

along the chipped and blackened bricks, a rush

of scent from satiny blooms, while clovered

lawns are striving for grass.



Note: The poem has subsequently been published at


© Copyright David Selzer
5 Responses
  • John Chapman
    May 25, 2011

    Our garden is now filled with the fragrances from compressed seasons’ blossoms of Rose, Honeysuckle, Peony and Mock Orange.
    We brush past Thyme, Lavender, Mint and Lemon Balm
    and inhale the smell of Box released by the heat of the May sunshine. The newly fledged Blackbirds and Starlings fight for the currants to which they will become addicted and bathe querulously in the bath we fill twice each day.

  • Jessica Stephenson
    May 20, 2012

    This is absolutely lovely! I enjoy your meter. The images are felt within me as I read. Thank you for sharing this on Third Sunday Blog Carnival –!

  • Dawn Napier
    May 21, 2012

    Very nice. Brilliant, sharp imagery.

  • Alina Cathasach
    May 22, 2012

    What a lovely piece. I adore the visuals it induces.

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