David Myatt - This Is The Season

This Is The Season

This is the season of Sun breaking past Low, yellow, altocumulus cloud When but a smallness of heat from our star Seeps into body To presence one more dream of Summer And those white Cumulus clouds build to billow There Where sea-horizon cuts sky's late Winter-blue With waveful sea-green grey: Here Only Thought owing With feeling As this olding body aches Tired from a hard week of work With no hand, no kiss Softly warm And waiting. For this is the season three years on From the tempetuousity of the stormful beautiful Fran Who sunk into darkest sadness As ship to sunless bed of sea Below: No joy to anchor So that, skuttled, the breath of life Slowly left her. But is there, something, lingering Here Where the waves, tide-creeping, Break upon this earthly rocky shore And that cloud There Drifts to ow to seep to be a smileful face?

David Myatt (2009)