Childhood summer

Through the slow shadows
the cows approach, warm
evening mothers, that rather
stay than go. Their eyes
are great flowers, their bodies
are full of grass. Almost plants
they are, groping their way home
on gently walking roots.

It was summer. Summer.


Gosta Agren

*

One of my favourite poems. You have to say it out loud - roll the words around in your mouth like cud.

You can buy poems by the Finnish poet Agren here. I'm going to look for mine later - it's on a bookshelf somewhere - and take it out into the sunshine.

Any ideas for an equivalent to the hands-together-little-bow gesture in English? I'd like to find a way of signing off my blog posts. In gassho / namaste ; )