Boughs bow to one another in the breeze.
Trees green-barked a month ago
Now strut in darker suits.
Where the daffodils waved
Now the bluebells ring.
The ditches are drying, the ivy glitters.
I would have walked my mother
Up North End Avenue.
She'd be all curiosity
(Perhaps the name of a flower, that,
Like Honesty). I miss the love she had for me.
I miss giving the love I had for her.