March Hares Boxing in the middle of the big field. The wide white light of the moon Tearing shadows into fragments Of black and white confetti.
These magical creatures, Owned by witches and wizards, Bring magic with them.
They are the first to see darkness Detach itself from the silent hedgerows. The first to hear hunters Drop to the cold ground, To steal the hare’s likeness For their photograph albums. Greedy to capture the joyful secrets Of wild creatures made of magic, Eyes full of white moonlight, Ears that semaphore night secrets.
At our front doorstep, we have a tiny flower, much smaller than the other flowers around it, and yet it is so blue, its blueness shines out and turns all the other lovely flowers into handmaidens. This flower is called LITHODORA.
ALL THE BLUE IN THE WORLD
This tiny flower, Smaller than a baby’s smallest finger, is so blue, The wonder is that any blueness is left in the world, Drenched and drowned in colour as this little flower is.
There is passion here, A deep, unfailing tenderness In its tiny petalled perfection. Nothing has been held back, No scintilla of grace denied To this small and lovely blossom.
This scrap of beauty, Its clear blue flame Shining down the damp and grassy darkness, Lights the dark path in front of us, Giving a sudden, startling glimpse Of a blazing, generous love.