The Irony of Summer
She took me there, and beyond
The forest canopy; nude
Silver bark, and tensile skin,
Pale in the frosted light.
Where Winter’s wide aperture,
Of shorn hedgerow, and exposure,
Lay trampled underfoot;
Cold comfort in the early night.
She took me there, and beyond
Sylvan bower; fully dressed
Undergrowth, and freckled chin,
Darkened in an exuberant light.
Where the narrow aperture
Of dense foliage, and privacy,
Has scent and sense surround,
In an irony of Summer’s right.
©R.Derham 2014
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