These Days And Those Days Poem by The Caterpillar

Those days with the wind swaying in the trees
those grey misty days of swirling leaves,
of tumbling autumn days falling into water -
the sea lapping around the legs of the pier
watching days, days curled up and crinkled...
do you remember that day, when

Evenings firelit - rain rattling on slate -
wind howlubub hubbing at the tiles above -
rain spatters the window's hollow green glass.
These days and those days - rose from above
the zenith soaring time's track.

Cool evening air between beech-tree groves
where leaves flutter down to fascinate the wanderer
nature's miniature moves a thrilling Muse to eye of joy
and woodsmoke's incense curling and diffusing....

Golden days, silver days of rain's glistening
tracery - moons, crunching paths a-wander
through furlongs fresh, harvest globes aglow
rippling pewter mirror of mackerel scatter
newt-tracks - crinkling the zenith

Sandstone ruins rooked by clacking
crowbodies - beaks - feathers blueblack
and beaks that clack - clutching claws cold
days of rooks a-flight in fluttering glassy nights
and dew-drenched hedgerows of bramble by
the gypsy's canvas hut.

Days on the move, horses shunting at the
collar, hooves a-clatter, sparking on roads
of night - past bramble miles and brackens
braking hills adrift with pink clouds glowing
slows in the hedge, cobwebs, moss and sedge

Faded brown photographs of days
in dreamy sunlight - kept in mahogany box
monoplanes whir, their wires taught, strings of
improbable Chinese guitars of the Butterfuly
brand - sealed with ambergreise - turquoise -
wax flocks in flux of beeswax bucks -
days like these flood by in flocks.