Bright Saturday
and Jane showed you
where the sheep’s wool
got caught along

the barbwire fence
on the top of the Downs
and she gave you
a handful and you

stuffed it in the pocket
of your faded blue jeans
and you both stood
looking out

at the horizon
the fields and trees
the farm and cottages
the church down below

where you sat
on the grass
last week
by the gravestones

and watched the sun
and clouds go by
it’s beautiful up here
she said

I love this spot
the slight breeze
moved her grey dress
flapping it gently

her hands at play
in front of her
sure is beautiful
you said

nothing like London
with its many houses
and flats
and churches

and factories
and other buildings
and smoke
and other things

to harm
I couldn’t live there
she said
I like the fresh

open spaces
and she breathed
in deeply
and you saw her

close her eyes
and the sunlight
caught her beauty
and you were moved

and touched by it
then she opened
her eyes again
and she talked

of the people
of the parish
and how she loved
the church

on a Sunday morning
and the smell of flowers
as he walked up
the aisle

and sunlight
coming through
the high windows
and as she spoke

you studied
her lips move
and how lovely
her eyes were

and you felt like
you wanted to kiss her
but didn’t
but just watched her

looking at her profile
the colour of her hair
the red ribbon
holding a bunch

at the back
and she put out a hand
and touched yours
and said her mother

liked you
and how unlike
the local boys
you were

and you smiled
and squeezed
her slim hand
her fingers warm

touching yours
and you both began
the slow descent
and all the while

she talked
of butterflies  
and wild flowers
and their scent.