Painting by J M W Turner
The air is blue as pale gold and blue tits’ wings and cat’s ears
reflected in ditch water sky, cloud pink as the breath of the stream,
rushing into twilight beneath the alders where coal smuts of
blackbirds squabble with jay and magpie.
Light glitters above and through this meadow-green,
rain-spangled and joyous, and such blue falls
in sunbeams, pools in ponds and puddles, and the robin
sings so sweetly, sadness is suddenly hard to find.