Spode

 

Rain on roads and remains without reserve

Clears slightly and light lines feint blue clouds,

Creatures testing shallows, and flowers in crowds

As if outside could always be this preserve.

The teapot sails from cup to steaming cup

That patterns this scene of pastoral bliss

Where a figure reads in a grotto of mist

Rhyming couplets; where time is never up.

News is hard the other side of the pane

As autumn unwinds and insects vanish.

High tides and heat waves make no distinctions.

The knowing protest against extinction

Then go home to something Spanish.

Another warm day, not a sign of rain.