Dancing Dust
	Poems by Mollie Caird (1922-2000)
	Blackberry time
Home Alphabetic index of poems Thematic index of poems Biography Gallery Contact and links	Along the lanes by Wood Eaton and Noke We pluck wild harvest; why do brambles grow Mingled with teasels, nettle, burdocks, all The stinging, clinging things that snatch us, so Our hands are stained with blood as well as fruit? Yet this intensifies the sweet day’s pleasure: Like Sleeping Beauty’s prince we are the more Triumphant in our shining hard-won treasure. How lovely are these fields now summer’s done: A clapping pigeon startled in the wood, A spangle of goldfinches on thistle-tops, And poplars flashing silver in the sun. The chequered magpie flickers from the oak, Twittering martins hawk and dance on high, Drawing our eyes to where the splendid clouds March wind-embattled on the Otmoor sky.  Oxford Times, 25 September 1964 The Dancing Dust and other poems, 1983