That summer, the red may and the white may made
Glorious the garden wall, and the bees burdened
The golden air with their carrying, till it hung
Heavy, a canopy over our heads
As we lay on the lawn and dreamed our way
Through jungles of tangled marrow shoots.
Foxgloves and campanulas swayed in the borders
And God bloomed over all, a benevolent sun.
Only the doves, like feathered augurs
Brooding in thatch, suspected time.
That year, snow came in April and again
In May, and the pony died in his harness;
But in summer, under the whitewashed trees,
A girl in a white dress gave me an apple.
I fitted my teeth in the marks her teeth
Had made; so we were one. Then dusk
Moved slowly among the trees like a blue
Smoke at night, and I cried that joy
Could come so easily, for then I knew
It must break with as little warning.
— Henry Treece
(Shot out in the back yard, straight up into the sky, with curves altered just a bit in Photoshop to blow out the sky, which was already flat and neutral.)