Jonathan Finch
A SIMPLETON’S SONG
I’m a green shape
under chaffinch-trees.
Mistletoe holds my hands
in twos and threes.
While the hot sun’s here
and the heat-wave flurries,
winter- or summer-clear
it’s all snow-berries
and the nip of chaffinch-song
though something’s wrong:
Somewhere riding a cluttered harbour
the ferry sings no thanks.
The end of toil’s an empty spur
on a pay-list’s teeming ranks;
simpler to burn the human down
to an average sensual beast
than play the tragedy-fool or -clown
and withdraw him from “the least”,
though here and there a chaffinch song
in the nip of evening-berries –
out in a stretch of mountainous wrong
the sinking or riding ferries.
(from “”Love” Poems For Kathy / Green. Laced. Leaves”)
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