O Let us see Another Day
Posted: 28 Aug 2019, 13:33
O let us see another day!
Bless us all this night, I pray,
As to the sun we all shall bow
and say good-bye – just for now
Dylan Thomas, Eli Jenkins’ Prayer
My darling waters her garden, the lawn
parched with patches of grey, she’d dug
down earlier to find no moisture there.
We have never known it so dry, so hot;
107 degrees Fahrenheit is unheard
of for us in these sceptred isles.
Does Global warming truly exist, does
one and one half degrees average rise
in temperature seems okay.
. . . O let us see another day!
She feeds the hedgehog at eleven p.m.,
places water in his bowl, sometimes
he drinks it all. She reports back excitedly,
‘He’s thirsty because of the heat or maybe
there’s two.’ They come down from the hills
under the lights of the motorway and cross
the streets they own with foxes, feral dogs,
and felines hunting slumbering birds,
unwary mice and any other prey.
. . . Bless all this night we pray.
She tut-tuts at the encroachment of slugs
that have decimated the hosta, climbing
up the glazed pot to ravage, leaving
a slimy trail. The hedgehog has cut down
their numbers, however she feels she has
to do something to stem, and slow
their voracious ascent, she places charcoal
across their path as blue slug pellets damage
the environment and may bring her hedgehog low.
. . . as to the sun we all shall bow.
Her garden reminds her of childhood
cared for by her parents and tending
their own garden. She asks for me help
to cut and saw back the bay, it goes mad
if one just looks at trimming it. She uses its leaves
for stews and soups along with herbs and lovage.
We sit outside to drink in and soak up the splash
of colours from her creation much like
a canvas of her countryman: Van Gogh.
. . . and say good-bye - just for now.
*****
Bless us all this night, I pray,
As to the sun we all shall bow
and say good-bye – just for now
Dylan Thomas, Eli Jenkins’ Prayer
My darling waters her garden, the lawn
parched with patches of grey, she’d dug
down earlier to find no moisture there.
We have never known it so dry, so hot;
107 degrees Fahrenheit is unheard
of for us in these sceptred isles.
Does Global warming truly exist, does
one and one half degrees average rise
in temperature seems okay.
. . . O let us see another day!
She feeds the hedgehog at eleven p.m.,
places water in his bowl, sometimes
he drinks it all. She reports back excitedly,
‘He’s thirsty because of the heat or maybe
there’s two.’ They come down from the hills
under the lights of the motorway and cross
the streets they own with foxes, feral dogs,
and felines hunting slumbering birds,
unwary mice and any other prey.
. . . Bless all this night we pray.
She tut-tuts at the encroachment of slugs
that have decimated the hosta, climbing
up the glazed pot to ravage, leaving
a slimy trail. The hedgehog has cut down
their numbers, however she feels she has
to do something to stem, and slow
their voracious ascent, she places charcoal
across their path as blue slug pellets damage
the environment and may bring her hedgehog low.
. . . as to the sun we all shall bow.
Her garden reminds her of childhood
cared for by her parents and tending
their own garden. She asks for me help
to cut and saw back the bay, it goes mad
if one just looks at trimming it. She uses its leaves
for stews and soups along with herbs and lovage.
We sit outside to drink in and soak up the splash
of colours from her creation much like
a canvas of her countryman: Van Gogh.
. . . and say good-bye - just for now.
*****