If I don’t know how to be thankful enough

for the clusters of white blossom.

on our mock orange, which has grown tall

and graceful, come into it’s own

like a new start just out of ballet school,

and if I don’t know what to do

about those spires of sky-blue delphinium,

then what about the way they look together?

And what about the roses, or just one of them-

that solid pinky-peachy bloom

that hollows towards it’s heart? Outrageous.

I could crush it to bits.

A photograph? A dance to Summer?

I sit on the swing and cry.

The rose. The gardenful. The evening light.

It’s nine o’clock and I can still see everything.

Wendy Cope.