poet & painter
NOD NOT YET
Nod not yet,
Nod not yet, for the swifts are coming,
And with them all things entirely new,
And many English cherries still to chew, Before they fall and are lost forever,
Amongst the sharp green, crystal clustered,
Kissing evening dew.
Nod not yet, for the swifts are coming,
And on their soft scimitar wings, the summer too,
From Africa, wing weary, they wind their way,
Across the vast cerulean blue.
Nod not yet, for the swifts are coming,
And with them the music of the eaves,
And sky dancing, far above, the breeze swayed,
Flickering shoal green leaves.
Nod not yet, for the swifts are coming,
Two years upon the wing, through sleep, and yearning,
Thermal drifting, blue sky burning.
Hear them call, in ethereal chorus,
Nod now – emerge, and fly to Horus.