Whispers In The Copse Poem by John Rickell

What tongue recites
Is it the willow
Languid to the ground
Catkins and golden leaves
Swaying in the springtime breeze?
A message I can yet guess
Of love eternal, through summer days,
A lexicon learned from days
Walking with a dog called Jack,
Listening to humming
Bees and calling crow,
Tumult clouds and Wedgewood sky
Rising sun and golden eve,
Cadences and falling tones
Unfurling ferns and mushroom parliaments
Where the nymph and cheeky elf
Tempt surprise to naive man.
Mock him in his sombre scowl,
Weighed down with imagined gloom,
Insufficient days, ambition’s greed,
Consuming avarice and jealous pride.
They do not spin, gossamer clothes suffice
Gleaned from spider webs and butterfly,
Stuck with dew and morning frost.