Now, in this bright morning,
golden and thread about each other.
I pause to stare more at the details
of fallen leaves. Not so many.
It sees obviously summer
heat bangs down on me like lost kisses.
No postie came to my door
no junk mail
no 1/4 price beds for sale or charities for the whale
The flame of the still green remains
the same and the foxgloves will stay awhile.
The electric and wires remain,
perfect tightropes no-on would dare
I see a spider-web over there.
I wonder whether to remove it
they are useful for taken out the flies
and sometimes in the right night
they waft in the sunbreeze . I go to-
remove it- change my mind.
My hear seeing beauty at the back of my eye. So I leave it for now