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Two are together, I tell you,
A slope of a voel, are a corner;
Grass short as a garden,
Bracken
Uncoiling,
Foxgloves, water
Descending,
Quartz in a stone.
This corner:
Mountain-ash (ferns
Up in the air).
Then over an edge
This single
Blue wedge of a mountain;
This comfort, you tell me,
Contentment,
Compassion.
This wild-mint-scented scene
And wild roses
And wrinkle of water descending
Tending to laughter;
Together, then
After.
Geoffrey Grigson
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