Mervyn Linford - Poet   



How many shades of blue have summer skies?
As many as the comfrey by the river
Whose drooping heads turn purple to the eye -

And hang - like mist. There's even pink amongst
The varied blooms - enough it seems to haunt
The water's edge - like ghosts that learn their numbers

From the bees. The air is warm. The jaunt
Of our desire visits June - where sunlight
Flits through shadows with the wren - undaunted

In the glitter of its song. The thrush replies -
A flood of notes that fathom every flower
And saunter through the fragrance of the mind.

The cuckoo seems uncertain of its taunt
And summer - doesn't answer - only hums.