I hear her in the garden
weaving madrigals through marigolds.
Her voice - a flute, tuned to the wind
winding top C around the Rowan tree.
She hangs shirts on the washing line
to arias by Mozart
and pegs out socks
to selections from Oklahoma.
On wet days her soft soprano
steals intermittently across the hedge,
when she steps to the wheelie bin
or scatters bread to starlings.
In ...
If you have a valid subscription to Thirdway, please
log inlog in to view this content. If you require a subscription, please
click here.