I’ve reached the point where I start
to make sense of things. I think.
I’m trying hard at my desk
this dull June day
with its pencil-grey sky
promising rain.
But I know in the fields
the whitest wild campion
has come into flower.
And the vase that used to stand
on the bedroom mantlepiece
dropping jasmined petals
into your shoes is now filled
afresh by your careful hand.
Oh to be better at where I am
rather than where I might be.
And to think beautifully,
each and every moments’ minute.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
I’ve reached the point where I start
to make sense of things. I think.
I’m trying hard at my desk
this dull June day
with its pencil-grey sky
promising rain.
But I know in the fields
the whitest wild campion
has come into flower.
And the vase that used to stand
on the bedroom mantlepiece
dropping jasmined petals
into your shoes is now filled
afresh by your careful hand.
Oh to be better at where I am
rather than where I might be.
And to think beautifully,
each and every moments’ minute.
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