Horse chestnut leaves hang

waiting like wing-folded bats

for the day to die.

 

Trees on hilltops creep

like caterpillar suppers

into the sun`s mouth.

 

Blossoms blush shyly

shamed by sly, frosty fingers

that nip at night-time.

 

Tarmac and tussocks

seep into shared grey slumber

through day`s dulling eyes.

 

Clusters of glow-worms

shiver down in the valley

under dusk`s thin sheet.

 

Over sleeping hills

a patchwork quilt of May greens

breathes for tomorrow.

 

Wind prays through grasses

as silent, white choirboys sway

at Today`s funeral.

 

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