APPLE-WINE IN THE HEIGHT OF SUMMER
The sun sweltering, my sister’s child
was bent double like a dice-gambler,
not casting lots but recalling fights
with battle-formations and men’s positions
in the broken earth. Beardless and young,
he was yet to try his luck in the trials of war
but he told Wíglac of warriors’ fame,
eager to impress him. But his eyes were on you,
our sweet-hearted son of soft bearing;
little love there was in his forlorn attempts
at boldness and strength, at being like me,
save that for his parents. I pried the boys
from their sticks and dirt, drew them shadeward—
for Heaven’s jewel was too hot in the sky;
hopeless endeavors yet more hopeless become
in the blazing rays of the burning sun.
Sitting together, I grazed your cheek
with a gentle kiss—and you kissed me back—
and in that summer shade we savoured the taste
of apple-wine and warmer days.
