Mombretia and Convolvus scarcely burden the wall
With their free and easy mute bells and bugles.
Exquisitely arrayed for mid-summer fetes and fables
The parapet sports its flame of garlands elegantly well.

Blossoming beneath the tumbling crown of flowers,
Where sandstone footings brush verdant borders,
Rosalind cushions her head on a neatly folded pullover
And hums herself a succulent song, a summer aria.

She blocks out the assemblies of cabals and cliques,
Who perch on park benches, pecking at the tidbits
Gathered from district windowsills and doorsteps,
Preferring to let her senses dine on milder intonations.

Discomfited by the mantras of dull and distant mowers
She hearkens for beeswings or the flutter of butterflies.
She courts rapture amongst the dandelions and daisies
When she would be enveloped by more winsome aromas.

But she is content to here on the communal grassland,
Where, in the balm and bounty of the latter evening
She lay nestled in the pacific embrace of an ambulant sailor,
A gentle-hearted stranger, her consummated lover.

Rosalind reaches out and caresses the face of the wall,
As if to tap into memories trapped in silicon senses.
She wishes to recall and savour, to relish the splendour
Of her journey from spring, to her chosen summer.