Lakeside Garden

by Carole Bromley

Let us sip ice-cold lemonade through a straw
and talk of furry caterpillars, thrushes’ eggs,
the swoosh of a paddle-steamer.

Let us watch a plane go past, its vapour trail
a line chalked on blue sugar paper.

Let us lie in the grass without speaking,
then I’ll read you a poem about blizzards,
wool slippers, a hissing steam radiator.