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.