ANOTHER seasonal dispatch, this time from a cherry orchard (though without Chekhovian overtones).

The observer is Andrew Young. The piece can be found in his Selected Poems (Carcanet).

THE SHOWER

The cherry-pickers left their picking

And ladders through the branches sticking

And cherries hung like gouts of blood

Down the long aisles of white-washed wood.

But now the sun is breaking through

Dark clouds that dry to pools of blue

And the smooth Medway lies uncreased

Except for drops the boughs released.

What is it makes the sun so proud

He will not suck a passing cloud

But needs raindrops to quench his thirst?

Well, let him do his picking first.