Summer Work

Floral spirits

Were I in your garden caught
Woke I mornings, but to walk
Between the branches,
Beside the ponds
Before the moon my eyes escape
An apricot blossom there awakes
A rippling brook crossed by a gentle bridge
Of nature‘s thought and hyacinth scents.

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..