The Noonday Sun


Cottonwool clouds drifting lazily by
Seemingly still in the bright Summer sky,
Fluffy white shapes suspended in space
Occasionally changing to fine Flemish lace,
Delicate strands interwoven by care
Spun by the breeze in the rarefied air.

Reflecting the glare from the white molten sun,
Enthroned upon high though the day`s just begun,
Baking the earth with it`s power and might
And rolls back the mist that collect`s in the night,
Scorching the grass in the old meadow lays
And drying the hay in a shimmering haze.

Omnipotent spectre of blinding light
Splitting the world into day and night,
Ripens the corn and the fruit to eat
But stifling life in the noonday heat,
Warms the spirit but addles the brain
Saps the strength with oppressive strain

Giving and taking with equal delight
Warming the land then scorching alight,
Warming their backs as the cows lie a`bed
Lazily swishing the flies from their head,
A Heron so still, as it stands in the heat
Fishing for Carp in the pond by it`s feet

`Neath the hedge sits a foxcub sniffing the air
Then slinks back to earth, to weary to care,
In a scraped out hollow a pheasant lies flat
A partridge lies too in a grassy matt
The chattering stills from Starlings at rest
All biding their time `till the sun`s in the west.

So I`ll sit in the bole of an old turkey oak
And contemplate life and this which I wrote,
Work can be left for an hour or two
Why labour today when tomorrow will do,
With a flask of tea and a cold meat pie
I`ll laze in the shade, and watch the clouds drift by.