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Poem by Mary Hobson
Summer in Zaraisk or Who wrote Shakespeare?
For Marina, with love Zaraisk is green. I mean, not just politically correct, but green, unchecked, in glorious profusion and neglect. Here raspberries and nettles grow together, and mischievous young devils play out Shakespeare’s midsummer revels in summer weather. Here Dima’s sunflowers grow like weeds – his parrot eats the seeds – and here Marina reads John Donne, in search of further proof that Rutland was the one, and apples fall like thunder on the roof.
Mary Hobson's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org