Jane Croft Copyrights 2014 All rights Reserved
We turned the horses out at fade of light
And saw the moonrise on the meadow’s crest
As brilliant stars announced the coming night
And fiery gleams sank slowly in the west.
On hill and hollow frost had lain all day
Thick-furring turf and tree and hawthorn hedge
With ice, and bound like iron the rutted clay
And rimed the furrows at the pasture’s edge.
Its beauty held us and we lingered yet
Both careless then of time, the passing hour
That brings the silent blight; the unseen threat
Whose stealthy touch destroys the budding flower.
The carefree day is gone that found us there:
Mere shadow, glimpsed like breath in frosty air.
The summer I came home from Spain it rained:
For days on end the leaden skies poured forth
Their stored burden until the land was stained
Dark, and the air drenched with scent of wet earth;
And water gushed in streams and flowed in rills;
And weighed with droplets heavy flower heads;
And dripped from trees and clouded all the hills;
And scattered petals over garden beds.
The country held communion with the rain,
A sweet libation to a grateful soil
That offered up its own green soul again.
And I remembered Spain where, from their birth,
Men in baked and arid fields must toil
To coax a living from a grudging earth.