Poems of the Night 6
A fieldfare fed a fallen nestling in dry dawn; once
a crow, among others, swooped on a silver gull;
sights, sounds, then, were summertime, my love. Late nightness.
Growing, leaving from the first lark
till the last swallow.
A fieldfare fed a fallen nestling in dry dawn; once
a crow, among others, swooped on a silver gull;
sights, sounds, then, were summertime, my love. Late nightness.
Growing, leaving from the first lark
till the last swallow.
Pickering gives us a handful of small scenes from one summer: a fieldfare feeding a fallen nestling, a crow swooping on a silver gull. One is tender, the other predatory, and the poem sets them side by side without comment.
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