Driving to Southampton
Sun picks out gold pieces hanging
among leaves it has burned to earth colours:
Silver birches gleam
feathered against the light
Those coral fans are oaks
defined in raw umber by a draughtsman's pen.
Skeleton poplars wearing lime-green tatters
raise gaunt arms to the menthol sky.
A cloud slow-drifting
turns back its dragon head.
Obedient to the spiral winds
in the high blue spaces
it transmutes to a unicorn
plunging on towards Southampton.
© Janice Windle
Today I rediscovered a poem I'd posted on the internet back in 2008, because I received an email to say that someone had posted a comment on it. So today I edited it (I've changed as a writer in those intervening six years) and now I'm posting it as my poem for Friday 18th April.