Here the secretive tide laps at banks
Quiet as centuries and wrapped
In twisted mesh of ancient oak limbs;
Twig fingers scraping molecule-thin skin
Of the cool green-blue world that slides
In primal silence below a mirrored sky.
And here in a spring in slackened time
A thousand golden eyes of celandine
Watch impassive the woman who dreams
In bluebell-hazed shade of heart-break green
Of youth and love and the roll of years
That turned a girl’s sunlight to shade and tears.
~Polly Oliver (2017)