Applecross stoops
not to hit its head
on the blanket of cloud
at two thousand feet
Rolls of cotton wool
in straight lines
drawn
by the Atlantic wind
Summer smiles
after a final tease
from winter
this weekend
Tide's rising high
pulled up by
the midsummer
supermoon
The Stones smile
knowing that
they are for the moon's
long cycle
but benignly
they allow the drum
to be beaten
for the sun
As it descends
down the latitudes
summer rolls in
summer is here
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