Poem for National Poetry Day
The dry stone walls lining the lane
were decorated with toadflax, lichen,
and tiny faces of heartsease.
The pale stones like warm pumice
were home to basking lizards,
glistening slow-worms with flicking tongues,
and fat-bodied, mottled spiders,
their slung webs like fragile silk doilies.
Strings of lights, pin-points of fire
lit our way returning, our footsteps
and our words echoing up the gardens
and ahead of us, along the lane.
© Sarah Barr