An English Summer Morning

A new poem, inspired by today's headline news.

An English Summer Morning

‘I see the French government has fallen’.

She was reading the Times’ headlines,
Her head angled at his as he held the paper upright.

‘Marmalade?’

‘Yes; be a dear; do pass it over.’

The sun shone colour onto a fading patterned carpet,
Toasting the resting lurcher,
Sleeping, eyelids flickering,
His mind chasing yesterday’s rabbit still
Over the ling heathered downs.

‘Are there more scrambled eggs?’

‘Yes, my dear, in the second dish.
Bacon and mushrooms too.’

She delicately added eggs to the blue-patterned plate
And still warm bacon
And toast.

The French doors lay open
Drawing the early morning scents in, and out;
A bee droned in, sleepily
Watched by the lazy cat.

‘Is Uncle Harry joining us for breakfast?’

‘He was up late yesterday evening,
Playing baccarat with young Christopher.’

She poured out fresh, hot tea,
Sieving out the small squares;
A brownian cup of tannic acid,
From far Afric lands;
Two lumps of Indes’ sugar, dissolving;
One spot of Devon milk.

The silver spoon tinkling as an Ethiop’s cymbala,
As knives cut toast and tomatoes
Spilling out reds, browns, yellows
Eggs and butter.

The unspoken silence reigned; 
A solitary cloud shuffling across an azure sky;
As the clock on the dresser chimed eight times.

‘What was it that you just said, dear?’

‘I was reading that the French government had fallen.’

‘Oh. I See. Yes.
Just as I had suspected.’

The cat suddenly sprung lithely,
Batting at the passing bee;
The lurcher looking up lazily, stretched,
Yawning, and slept again.