Floweredly the counter bluebells

Ringing across the fields

Of sheep and baby

Lambs bleat in the sunlight

Rays streaking

Nude like over the valley

And I’m not drunk

Yet, quite dizzy though,

You’re to blame for

Turtles cross here

The white brickwork road

Leads to my bed somewhere

The end waits comforting with promises

Of sleep warm, so safe, so safe the words

echoing through the newly formed nights,

No love within them.