Peter Russell

(1921-2003 / Bristol)

Late Winter Spring


The apple-trees of my delight
The cherry-trees of my despair
Drop silently their blossoms bright
On my bent back and my grey hair

The lilies in the emerald field
Hide gold-dust in their cavernous wombs
Slumberous longings now have sealed
The eyelids of the marble tombs

The petals fall in a great heap
Beside the stone-house door
The falling waters lull to sleep
The stars that move on heaven's floor

Dawn awakes the folded roses
Gummy lashes lock the limes
Resinous leaf in dew reposes
The morning air in heat sublimes

The trees begin to rustle now
Big clouds bedeck the morning sky
Behind the humming lime-tree bough
Flits out of sight a butterfly

I am alone beneath the tree
Alone beside the waters here
The house of stone entices me
Into its darkness drear

The apple-trees of my delight
The cherry-trees of my despair
Drop silently their blossoms bright
On my bent back and my grey hair

I am, I am not anywhere…

Submitted: Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, May 20, 2014

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