WALLED GARDEN, FELBRIGG Wendy Webb
Mature fruit in the apple orchard,
skies blue as endless summer.
Neptune’s cherub poses,
harmless in a pond,
where lavender yet blooms.
No crooning from the dovecote’s aged red bricks,
while vegetables are fat for harvesting
before first winter frosts.
A bloom of agapanthus skies
and angel’s trumpets in the greenhouse.
Just gently snaking breeze
of naked ladies blooming bare and pink.
Geraniums in second flush,
fuschias tall as trees.
Cabbage whites flit caryopteris airs,
while pensioners slow to a long-gone age;
yet fast as humans, fast as fall,
and always like a Noah’s Ark, in pairs.
Geese arch to church-migrating shapes,
into a storm of popes and formless fears.
Silent jets spike the sky,
to seashell echoes of a distant war.
One stray dragonfly dances light-stormed peace;
too soon, gone.
An echolalic child lifts laughter into air,
as windfalls stray and bruise on verdant lawn.