Friday, 4 October 2013


Wet Nights

 On wet nights the washing line
                                hangs slack,
gently swung by the breath
                                of a breeze,
rousing the sleeping flowers
and fondling drowsy trees.

A strand of flashing droplets slide,
                                 a slow glide,
slip united, smooth as oil,
turn to jewels, glittering
and trembling from a woman’s ear.

© Sue Burley