My drowsy feet kicked clouds of English dust,
As evening pavements gave back gentle heat.
I saw the still, bright greens of home-town trees
And dark-pink roses on the sleepy street.
Lord! Is this my own land, so bright and dry,
The lovely stillness of it and the shimmering sky.
There came two neighbours shrieking down the road.
“My god! Too hot! Oh! How my ankles swell!”
My clothes get far too tight on sticky days.”
“And do you know the drains begun to smell?”
They stank of indignation and of spite
As if, somehow, God hadn’t got it right
Had not got right the slant of sun on leaf,
Of dry, pink petal dropping against blue.
Oh, little, sightless, pretty, inward ones
This quiet bright evening was meant, for you.
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