Haytiming

 

haymaking 2

‘It’s late so soon,’ he said –

The sun still high but the day nearly over,

The weed at July and summer toppling.

Away in the intake,

The scaled-out grass sprawled sodden, the ewes wanted clipping,

And the lambs were as big as their mothers.

He stared across the dale.

On its eastern shoulder every cobble and clint

Was seven-times magnified under the lens of light;

The other slope was plunged in a reservoir of shadow.

Bracken, rank and viscous, stank like compost,

The rowans were already reddening.

And the rag-mat of autumn lay coiled up in the corries,

Waiting to be rolled out over fell-foot and byre.

He pushed segged thumbs through hair too early grey,

And said again: ‘That’s the trouble with summer –

It’s late so soon.’

 

Norman Nicholson

Collected Poems

 

Advertisements

One thought on “Haytiming

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s