The Inkwell

i

they say it’s summer time

the thermostat disagrees

by more than ten degrees

ii

in the rush to declare

summertime is here

plants underground are yet to appear

iii

while locals perch on terracotta

the colours of summer

are yet to return from

their winter retreat

iv

poor old oak and willow

rising off their winter pillow

find the white stuff at their feet

and blossoms on wind in hasty retreat

v

big coats…used at winter time

pulled out as summer clocks do chime

as frost and snow dust garden floor

like it did a few months before

vi

lighter mornings…the promise to all

yet ra, as yet, didn’t get the call

light coming from her chum the moon

hoping ra will wake up soon