This poem has taken more than a decade to come of age. I found the archeological remains literally on the back of a torn, empty A4 envelope a few weeks ago, and this evening inspiration has flown in from wherever it dwells to bring the dry bones to life…. I began to write it on a Valentine’s Day, feeling single and a little unloved. The rest you can discern for yourself.
Lithe brown branches
soft silk budlets
fountain-fluff beside the river…
There it was: the pussy willow
ranged in swathes of soft profusion.
You, the lover of my spirit,
dwelling in my deepest dreamings,
left a valentine of silver
like a favour on a pillow –
wordless tender consolation.
No red rose or gold-clasped locket
could have rendered sweeter meaning.
Here an unforeseen encounter,
in the shape of pussy willow,
with the Lord of all creation.