British Summer

Yet the winter was warm spring was sharp
the summer was melting wet and dense clouds
endless clouds no sun for weeks and weeks
and drizzles of rain over the finances of silver
sleek panthers and raging bulls
gathered now around a bar
waiting for the drinks to arrive
six largers and one stoney cold ginger cider
so rare they had to dig it out of the eye brows of accelerating hares
and brew it for exactly 12 weeks
then sing to them in real Chinese
the declaimed measures of confidence
the buckets of faith washing boards
makers of the vital parts
of this and that
the undescribable requirements that make that is
the clarity of sunlight
crystal clear views down stone clad streets
the gentle breeze and towering senate monolithic
exposure rancid in the wind
blocking out the light but reflecting
its glare
into the eyes
of the countryside