Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Another Summer


A dandelion examined

is unsubtle, unkempt;

distant, streaks a field

with clear puddles of gold.

Two truths to accept

with a crooked neighbour’s love

before Struwwelpeter and straw-gold vanish

in a silky puff.


Sweetness spreads about

from hawthorn-conquering may.

The buttercup’s purer gold

puts the dandelion out,

Children undress to bathe.

My crooked heart grows old.