Treasure Island

John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Can you hear the rurmbles?


Can you hear the rumbles
daffodils and cowslips
stirring in the grass?
worms and beetles feel the heat
The bird bath sheds its ice
Euphorbias with pale green furls
impatient to be first.
Time to prune the roses,
lavender's greying whiskers
untrimmed in the fall,
better late than never.
The frost has nipped a few,
the pineapple tree unconcerned
silver leaves beneath the cedar,
its sweet unEnglish scent
overwhelms summer evenings
mixing with the Merlot and
neighbours’ drunken laughter.
Winter short as ever, never stays long
like us does not like the cold!
Fought the snow since Christmas,
but let us have our sledge and grumbles
knows we'll soon forget.

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014
Edited: Thursday, February 20, 2014

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