59 / 84
The Eve Before the Day of the Poppies
T.E. Gleason
For four dry days in a row
And as many starry night
The fairies all danced around
To the smell of the fresh cut hay
Slowly curing in the sun.
The wild rose guards the fresh mown fields
Brought here by the soldiers
And then by the birds.
It leans on and laughs at the blackberry blooms
Its scent is sweeter, there is no doubt
But its barb cannot compare
And neither can its fruit
Of which is has naught any.
White clover covers this hallowed ground
It came up last August
In our lovely second spring.
From how long ago had its seed lay silent?
Older than I, or older than you
Or older that the first day of the poppies.
If it all blooms now, will any bloom later?
Or will the line be broken
For lack of bees
Or lack of chance.
T.E. Gleason has a farm in
Southwestern Virginia.
57