All in June

A week ago I had a fire, To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. Today, the fields are rich in grass, And buttercups in thousands grow; I’ll show the World where I have been — With gold-dust seen on either shoe. Till to my garden back I come, Where bumble-bees, for hours and hours, Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, To wriggle out of hollow flowers.

W. H. Davies

Available in your local book shop, or buy online at: