Of All I've Seen Waiting To Be Discovered

A spring of buttercups, when was that now I saw in green pastures a golden jersey cow a river meandering, swift-lashing and lush where blue tit nest on passing, fell hush. When their shells scattered pieces of sky plucked treasured depths in a child's eye. When did I last see a fire poker toadstool? It's fiery-globule-head in a green whirlpool. Radiant-light brims over a cherry-bark moth. Is he not both moth and tree - life's froth? Of all I've seen waiting to be discovered the tench bubbles breaking, I savoured. The nervous vole nosing silence ordinate up through the willow trees rooted garret. These and other things, I've remembered a boy by the river I once wildly proffered.