A Summer's Day

A perfect summer's day, the grass was shorn, 
And for a while I mused upon the door -
The softness of the stone, the moulding worn, 
The dusty feel of flag upon the floor,

I didn't think of much, nor needed more, 
As swallows hied afar, all seeming torn 
The one from the other. Here in the haw,
Fitful as a damsel-fly, I mourn, 

Hearing the gentle breeze that moves the straw 
In fields around, and think of things before, 
And wonder what tomorrow's russet dawn
May bring to this closed acre's patch of lawn.


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