Hit wis da swans, dat’s whit it wis.Dat’s whit set da day apairt. Twa cygnets, happit in emsket,a midder, a faider. A peerie geo aa ta wirsels, whaar waves yockitsands saftly, maas cried oot abun, an da sun drappit waarmest hugsapö wir shooders, glinkin atween white cloods o oo. Bit da swans,no buddered be dat, […]
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
/ The woodland paths are dry,
/ Under the October twilight the water …
The year goes, the woods decay, and after,
many a summer dies. The swan
on Bingham’s pond, a ghost, comes and goes.
The hired van speeds down dual carriageways
/ containing us who function or don’t function
/ as chemicals trigger off and trigger on
/ the infinitely…
