Nectars

Honesty; fading daffodils;
Pink drunken fling of cherry trees,
Deadnettles’ parted lips
Send me to crawl close corridors,
Curse rain and roofs, smell at the end
One clear drop at the tip

Which trembles. I stand drenched with gold
(Lily of valley, violet)
My perfumes ache; no time
To sleep, to feed or not to fly.
The garden whirls. I hum on breath
Rose, starred clematis, lime.

The snowdrops’ icy peace has gone.
Primroses shout for me in March.
I must come when they call.
Ageing, I dream the winter’s rest,
(Blank cyclamen, chaste hellebore).
Into the frail and empty cell
The first, free petals fall.

Alison Brackenbury

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