In a sun-crazed orchard
Busy with blossomings
This loafer, unaware of
What toil or weather brings,
Lumpish sleeps – a chrysalis
Waiting, no doubt, for wings.
And when he does get active,
It’s not for business – no
Bee-lines to thyme or heather,
No earnest to-and-fro
Of thrushes: pure caprice tells him
Where and how to go.
All he can ever do
Is to be entrancing,
So that a child may think,
Upon a chalk-blue chancing,
‘Today was special. I met
A piece of the sky dancing.’