simonhlilly

THE TOWERS OF SUMMER

clouds roll

mixed with sunlight

slowly down

the side of Y Garn Dwad.

the hay is in now

so let it rain a warm rain.

now, now, everything green

reaches upward in one great exhale.

the towers of summer stretch out, bow down.

there is thunder

in the distance, so they say,

and the rivers will soon be filled again.

the surface of Llyn Berwyn though,

shall not be troubled for long:

it will return to its quiet reflection

of hills and cloud,

the brown trout

hardly noticing

a world

that cannot decide

between this and that.

held firm it is, unperturbed,

the lake that lies

in earth’s firm

folded hands.

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