Written Somewhere Sunny In The North-East
A melody by the a-peeling bells.
“More to see! The child who eats the twisting treat; the gull who rides the unseen surf.”
Above the reaching leaves that grow beyond the basket’s edges, dance petals of lilac; of white; of crimson.
Even as (ephemeral) the winter’s apogee takes Easter on and, late, chase they the heels of Autumn.