From Maureen Forrest

From Maureen Forrest

Here and Now

I planned a walk one winter day,
But now it was almost too late;
The sunbeams struck across the grass
And underneath the gate.

And soon the sun like a blood-red fruit
Fell from the sill
Of the dazzled world
And when I came upon the hill
A cover of grey down was low
And, line upon line, the landscape
Softened in the mist.

Too late? Too late for what?
I was here. Here I am now,
Gazing upon that pinkish band
Which , like a rosy bedroom
Glows beneath the fringes of the travelling cloud,

And while I stay to gaze, and screw
My eyes to pierce the mystery –
Almost abed now in that dreaming sky –
The dusky coverlet unrolls to show
A deepening spread of tender blue.

© Maureen Forrest, June 2008

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