Whirring in to purple gems A perfume makes me spin Tapping out the pollen count That sweetens up my wings... Herby flower, Buzzing hour, Pollen power, Lavender is lavish.
Hay meadow, why do you let your hair grow wild? Hay people, have you seen it draped in light? Hay meadow, your grass plaits tall and fine Hay people, for butterflies to climb And folded wings to raise Before opening in the haze...
On spiring ledge, The storks do crank, Their winding necks, Tall necks... Tick along, Timely beaks turn ticktock, Tick along... Like the old town clock.
Warty newt with yellow toes With skin that bumps And crest that glows Those spots that pop On your belly show The small pond fever That spreads below.
Hop in the bath on a Sunday You’ve got to wash while it’s free Wind up your wings like a hummingbird And beat yourselves so clean.
A theatre plays along the banks Of the water side The willows draw a masquerade Their shadows splitting light. Silver herring, Is the glam on show While from back stage, The heron takes a row.
Here rides the bittern Snatching feet A needle spire For a beak It twists above us And breaks the current Then when it disappears Its step you cannot hear Among the reeds
The climbers eye a bounty up, Above the striped horizon, Clinging on to rolling skin They scale the dusty way. Tiny beaks peep over streaks Of hair that tips the hill Their necks are stiff and their cheeks are stretched From picking with their bill.