Gazing On Jelly Ear Funguses Poem by Mark Heathcote

Your heart has a tranquil spot, in a shadow,
a place in which I too would come and sit
gazing on jelly ear funguses - sallow
beneath, ancient elder tree boughs and midst.

The river silver that zigzags—slithers
through an opening of soft pine needles
scattered on either bank—withers
grasses sun-scorched, once emerald—enfeebles.

The sound of which reminds me of the heat
we bathed away in meadows primrose.
Rolling as field mice entwine; bittersweet.
Odd, how memories cling to their blindfolds.