A Single Spur
The air is muggy with platters of cow parsley and elderflower,
the pollen stirred from stamen by the breeze and looking for a bee.
Each breath is laden with the taste of these flowers,
weary after witnessing the sweep of hawthorn to Queen Anne’s lace
which had populated the hedgerows until June and whose petals
drifted down midst the thrusting stalks of the new summer arrivals.
It wont be until Autumn that the bones of that pathway will be seen,
until the stupefied bees can move no more.
The hills will darken then, the spines of blackthorn reduced to silhouette
unified in the dusk, although occasionally a single spurwill raise its splintered prong to the moon.
So this is my last poem of my month's writing for this blog (posting two today due to a slight technical hitch on the 1st June). Thank you all so much for your kind comments and support, I shall continue to read the blog as it travels on through the year. The standard of the work has been incredible and i am amazed how those of you who have undertaken the challenge for the whole year are so unerringly innovative and creative in your writing every single day. Emma