Tonight my world is quiet – I could drop proverbial pin
Into the marvellous silence and hear it clearly. Spin
A midnight cobweb’s miracle: my spider’s hard at work
Delivering her patterns quirk by quirk
So in tomorrow’s morning I’ll find her sleeping there
Among the dewy offerings deep in her dawning care.
I’ll carry out the birdseed and watch as jays swoop in
To strut and peck and quarrel, to herald Sunday. Win
I shall by hook and polish, with cleanliness and scour
I’ll mark our Sunday peacefulness and find that, hour by hour,
My pen flows with miraculous ease. I plot, I plan, devour
A thirty-second chapter to my primrose yellow flower.
Tonight my world is quiet but in Blenheim films are made
The costume drama flickers from sunlight into shade
Those lorries thunder past me, the extras drink and eat
The noise of talk and banter fills Blenheim’s gardens. Meet
Me where my cobwebs, floating, can catch me unawares
In Blenheim’s dazzling drawing rooms or else beneath those stairs
Our worlds live side by side and so I’ll tiptoe into midnight, go
To sleep beneath our lovely moon to dream how cobwebs
Play my tune.
For creative people everywhere, but particularly in Blenheim