She is eating summer
spread abundant on her bread,
red cherries, bright berries,
sunshine pouring through;
warm juice of lavish fruit
drips from the bread like wine.
She is eating summer,
cherry orchards with their weight
of marbled fruit, hot scent
of raspberry and currant leaf,
sun-baked in fields of France.
Outside, down the glass of everyday
dribbles the interminable English rain.
If you've any comments on this poem, Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear from you.