By the Test

Oh! I could lie here for hours and hours,
On soft short grass interwoven with flowers.
With trefoil clover, pale ladies smock,
Toadflax, milkwort, hairbells and dock.
A patterned carpet hot scented, sweet,
Clouds barely moving; birds hushed by the heat.
Whisper of water as it flows through the weed,
Whistle of wind as it~ds through the reed.
For there is peace to be found where waters run,
Where cattle knee deep, drink, warmed by the sun.
Soon seasons alter, winds shriek through the trees,
Blue skies will darken, rain drip from the eaves.
As beneath the bridge the waters race,
Tiny waves curl, foam-edged like lace.
Bare branches beseech the threatening skies,
Beneath whose dead leaves the new life lies.
Clouds, low, rainfiUed, ominus, grey,
Are a far far cry from that summer day.
But there is peace unequalled where waters flow,
Where speckled trout leap, and gold king cups grow.

Sally Chetwyn