May Hem (or, is it Heaven's Hem?)

 a glimpse of today's inspiration

It dapples puddles beneath feet

Of laughter innocent and sweet...

It washes shorelines with a song

We have not heard in far too long...

To soak in nature-sculpted nooks

And watch the fisher trawling brooks...

A bolt of fabric, (or, a jolt of magic) flower-spun...

Unrolls beneath the beaming sun

Through bowers burgeoning, bright green

With glints of gold splashed in between...

It washes shorelines with a song

We have not heard in far too long

It decks fruit trees with blossom-show

Then flecks the foliage below

With soundless storms of petal snow

A bolt of fabric, flower-spun

Unrolls beneath the beaming sun

Through bowers burgeoning, bright green

With glints of gold splashed in between

Where long a cold white sash had been

A rush like rivers on the air

Flows through flushed woodland’s lofty flare

While shadow-pools deepen until

There are no shallows left to fill

Beneath the arc where whispers spill

It tickles silver-sparkling streams

Rekindles garden-dinner dreams

Planted in carrots, taters, corn

The heart feels like the world at morn

With vigor, vim and verve reborn

Ancient and stalwart, lilacs frill

The fringes of hollow and hill

They dot the land, like faithful guards

Keeping vigil over graveyards

And feet-forsaken boulevards

Its hemline skims the luring banks

Where people loll in easy thanks

With picnic baskets, blankets, books

To soak in nature-sculpted nooks

And watch the fisher trawling brooks

It dapples puddles beneath feet

Of laughter innocent and sweet

It is a butterfly, a bird

A poem without form or word

A sense of dust that childhood stirred

Is it Heaven or May that trails

Its hemline over rills and vales

To waken bracken, tightly curled

Like fists of green softly unfurled

To weave a winsome wonderworld

© Janet Martin

To waken bracken, tightly curled

Like fists of green softly unfurled...