The gentle rains have summoned gold
From limestone walls as light as leaf.
The summer citrine floating gems
Are raised to shine on sundewed peat.
Their calls as fine as spider’s silk
Are threaded through the spikes of sedge,
And bright as mirrors to the sun
Chase heaven in a skyward vault.
As fragile as the cotton grass:
Arrive in April, dance in May,
Come autumn join the swallows south
And leave the hills to still and grey.
The yellow wagtail’s second life:
Is gleaming in the Sahel’s sands.