DEAR MR HOUSMAN

DEAR MR HOUSMAN

This spring I walked, remembering your words,

watching the blossom shadows on the lawn,

then, looking upwards, noticing a bird

amongst etched petals. Perfect. Overdrawn

on time, I left the laden cherry tree

for phone calls, letters, bills and cluttered mess.

I should have stayed, my feet on filigree

of leaf and flower fractals. I confess

I knew its ivy-covered trunk had split

and rotted ... but, "It's been like that for years."

(The trick is in the guessing when to quit.)

It's gone now, axed, but I am sitting here

     In autumn sunlight, waiting for the gold

    of fruitwood fires and winter's silvered cold.