Every Season
At flashpoint leaves fall, Light, air, shell, in after-seasons; Where I lived the British well-being of children out of sight, Towns, mining valleys, a child bouncing on springy-ringed pools, Forests of red squirrels outnumbered the grey, Gin-traps the rabbits, slag heaps us all; On crumbling estates deer to and fro in woods of bamboo (And still do), Knowing bamboo before any other tree; Surage coastlines, rail-shooting country, Beginning my first line of every season 'Words —For Blowden,' Mountain streets rocky with stars.
A city sky like some threatened creature changed colour, Canals, rivers sliming along, overcrowding and overcrowding, Misery that with each protest the possession greater, Coming across space by chance, Least space of all in schools; Change so wild it follows one, Distance beats like a moth to the touching sun.
GLORIA EVANS DAVIES
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