“Could be honeycomb In a sea of honey A sky of honey Whose shadow, long and low Is slipping out of wet clothes? And changes into The most beautiful Iridescent blue. Who knows who wrote that song of Summer That blackbirds sing at dusk This is a song of colour Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust Then climb into bed and turn to dust.”
“Could be honeycomb In a sea of honey A sky of honey Whose shadow, long and low Is slipping out of wet clothes? And changes into The most beautiful Iridescent blue. Who knows who wrote that song of Summer That blackbirds sing at dusk This is a song of colour Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust Then climb into bed and turn to dust.”
