A berry, flirting from the crowded holly,
Or dropped at its dark foot, slightly crumpled,
But certain that the folded good inside it,
Though not the word for spring, is still a word
As bitter, bright and crystal-complex…Lammas,
The earthed berry promises: good morrow.
From Oxford Poetry Vol 13 No 2 (Winter 2009).
In memory of Mick Imlah