SUNDAY EVENING SONG 

by Mike Springate

 

Sitting in Cookham, the cool of the evening,

The mowing is over, the Sunday is done,

Birds chirping singly become a dusk chorus,

The swathe of lawn leaves its soft pattern to lull us,

A horse blubbers softly than night has begun,

The yellow halfmoon – not a star yet – in rising

Commits the night air to give rest to the sun.

 

Sipping in Cookham, the cool of Martini,

My labour is over, next week not begun;

Lights in the kitchen promise my supper

As sherry in hand ‘er indoors downs a cuppa

And waves as the dusk and the trees merge in one

Anthem of praise, and I smile serenely

‘O Cookham how grateful to be your new son’.

 

Mike Springate