Sun bussed, she flaunts
white broderie anglaise
with ruby flares.
Hippy beads drape her neck
like a berry wreath.
Westerlies fanÍ she strides
through the garden,
in first bloom,
stoops to inhale
an Old Yellow Scotch.
Dark blotches blemish
its leaves like her hands.
Clouds veil the sun.
Limping now through woodlands.
she is drawn towards ancient trees,
saplings when Vikings invaded.
Once slender fingers reach out
to the gnarled arms
of Old Man of Calke.