Flakes of falling flame, fragments, figments….
I
I shall walk in the cool green morning
A roof of grey light and white horizons
Amongst the skylark’s and the blackbird’s song
Unfettered, unrequired, unopposed, unnoticed.
The deep throb of honey bees,
The pointed tang of balsam poplar,
Each blade of grass, a cloak of life.
Silent moist, echoing air
Vaporous bliss,
Honey-tongued May.
II
My mind-
clouds.
Slow shifting greys,
Pearlescent light.
My tongue-
A flame of green leaf
Tasting filtered sunlight.
My heart-
Ullulating balm,
The blackbird’s river.
Perfect
Imperfect-
As it is.
III
Always though,
The night of pain,
Biting, back-brain
Sting of writhing pain.
Somewhere though,
The acid smell of cordite,
The skin prickle of rage,
The leaden drunkenness of hatred.
And somewhere,
Proud innocents,
We offer
A gift for Krishna,
A gift for Allah –
A scattering of plutonium:
Our gift
To the Universe.
IV
The Old Man,
Rocking from side to side
On his ox cart,
Leaves from the Western Gate.
This time,
No-one notices……
simonhlilly 
Wonderful nature poetry, and great use of colour. Really enjoyed the final stanza as well.
Also, props on the title. Tis a most rolling thing to say out loud.
Thanks! Sketchy, but sometimes that can retain a vigour more polished and produced pieces lose….
Sorry, it took me a while to get to some of my posts from May. But here I am at last. An interesting and unusual piece/set of linked pieces.