Welcome to my poetry: Sol Standing Still!

Sunrise over The Lawley, Shropshire.

It’s a bit scary to think we’re already up to the longest day of the year, the summer solstice, and then on the 24^th June, Midsummer’s Day. I'm still waiting for summer to begin, not sure how we’ve got to midsummer! Unless we count the lovely sunny weather we had back in March!

Here’s my offering to Old Sol’s highest and lowest points!

       

     Sol Standing Still

Hear the cuckoo? He calls through the warm countryside,

On St. Aaron the monk’s special day,

Predicting that summer be cursed with much rain;

Poor harvests of wet, mouldy hay.

When the searing sun travels to its greatest height,

Shoot straight, three blood droplets descend,

Gather, preserve and keep each drop safe,

For from blood tiny fern seeds ascend.

Seeds of the fern contain magical powers,

Finding objects long lost over time,

Or render the holder invisible,

And aiding the lovesick who pine.

Twice yearly we celebrate ‘sol standing still’,

When he’s far to the south or the north,

We bow with allegiance to magnificence

And rejoice in the life he brings forth.

Sweetheart, my fingers are blooded and sore,

Needle glints in the soft lamplight glow,

Each stitch a fond kiss, each knot an embrace,

My love is so easy to sew.

On St. Thomas’s day will you wear my token?

It befits agricultural trades,

With stem stitch and trellis on simple cut twill

It’s the handsomest smock ever made.

Please wear this gift as the sun strives to climb

In the shallowest arc of the year,

The fern seed and smocking have completed their work,

          Now I am contented my dear.

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet  xx