Rodmarton; or, The Flowers of Coo
The sky is a blanket of ivory white,
0the wind sighs through shuddering trees,
a bird-scarer shoots and a pheasant takes flight,
0his call is a shivery wheeze;
the walled kitchen garden yields nothing for stew –
0yet hark! from the orchards a rhyme:
Woo-hoo! … Woo-hoo! … The flowers of Coo
0sing sweetly of coming springtime!
The swimming pool's stagnant and still in its net,
0its surface a-slick with dead leaves,
once crisp fiery parchments loll dull brown and wet,
0no bathers lounge under beech eaves;
the moss-stricken tennis court feels no sports shoe –
0yet hark! from the hedgerows a rhyme:
Woo-hoo! … Woo-hoo! … The flowers of Coo
0sing sweetly of coming springtime!
The manor stands grasped by wisteria bones
0and watching its tatty yew flocks;
they trail weird appendages over cracked stones,
0wings draped in capacious new smocks;
the greenhouses shelter no beautiful hue –
0yet hark! from the borders a rhyme:
Woo-hoo! … Woo-hoo! … The flowers of Coo
0sing sweetly of coming springtime!
Credits
Photography: A.R.T. & F.F.T.
Poetry: Coo, aka Word-Bird :>)