Richard George
Schizoid April
A monsoon in solid state:
Lentil sized ice-pods
Skedaddle down the escalonia,
Peashoot the window. . .
On that bwlch above Llangurig,
I saw the hail storm, stringing
From low cloud, before it hit me.
I turned my back, shouldered it
And ten minutes later
I was beaming with the sun.
Now grass glints: a Welsh smell
Of tarmac and roof slate
And pink in the gutters
Lies new almond blossom
Deep as the wind cuts me cold.
Page(s) 12
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