IDYLL

By Mary Crowther

Taken from the 1971 Bonnet Guild Festival Guide

From a ligneous cavern

beside the tree girdled quarry,

I watch

overlapping shadows blot the stammering sun,

leaving a mass of tree imprinted water.

The dark,

dumpy Dutch bees,

surfeited,

slide off floriferous clusters,

gliding past

June foliaged trees;

boosting,

tired pollen furred legs through purple scarved landscape,

trailing vistas of silence.
The drugging drench of tree flowers soaks my green tent,

warm with the breathing of Dryads.
Fibrous membranes ripple into the lapping quarry.

Only today exists!
The Blackbird's requiem reaches across darkening water,

strangling the day;

lime scented air spreads behind a stockade of twilight,

and the sun cracked path dilates

Into emptiness.