Hive-sized creams are on the chestnut tree
alive for — and with — bees — boughs
of copper beech gives birds a ride

for their whistles clouds
course overhead the gorse
is buttery sweet it's May

the day the right hand gives to the left.

While the lamb pecks at the tit
of its mother it seems
the rest of the field has gone to sleep.

Now milk drips down its brand new lips
and bubbles of grass wet the ewe's.

She stops chewing and turns her face
to gaze at the feast at her waist.