Putney Park: Sunset Across The Water

A million pyres would be as a match
In hell to this raging sinking Lear.
Peninsular land lies ready to catch
The sky god’s shimmering ruby tear.

How blue the depthless floor of space.
Are they lips, and do they sweetly sing
Soft breath in waves on my moveless face?
Or the ruffling beat of some passing wing.

The bay drifts wide like lambing flocks.
Dark peacock’s wings will soon unfurl
Till all subsides in a mindless swoon.

This hill’s green arch is our private box.
Each tree is a rapt and graceful girl
Uplifting her cheeks to the archer moon.

by Michael Buhagiar

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