In a Field on May Day
We lay within a bright yellow smear
of buttercups in a damp field in Suffolk
edged with Chantilly umbels of cow parsley
and our head and heart race ahead of themselves
as a May-Day wind that's half winter half summer
raises a swathe of goose bumps on your slight slim arms
that suddenly clamp the nape of my neck to crush
my face to yours and through my nostrils I can smell your
clean mouth and the old bonfire circle that's spiked with poppy seedlings celebrating the good fortune of their mineral rich home and in June their dark cherry plum flowers will slow passing cars and numb mouthed I break away first and fling myself down amongst the buttercups to study the tiny scattered brains of worm casts.
poem by Bob Dellar
Added by Poetry Lover
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