An old one, but worth a re-run maybe?
(Male Chalk Hill Blue, photographed on 2/8/008
CHALK HILL BLUES
Fine dongas’ etched capillaries
trace downs in criss-cross engravature.
In pure air, flimsy with fritillaries,
Chalk Hill Blues, by divine imprimatur,
caper. Deft dragonflies, volts from the blue:
thoraxes like mottled Venetian glass,
hover, with pink damselflies, over dew-
dipped vegetation. Those who would pass
by to reach St Catherine’s coronet (beech
circle)- Iron Age travellers, or those
who buried their plague victims- did not breach
Nature’s contract; nor did those who opposed
that livid, open wound, scarring the cant,
observable from Compton Down. This way,
once pilgrim path, in earshot of thin chant
from cloisters, now roars, a snarling highway,
bar of shame on history’s escutcheon.
Rufus’ cartwheels no longer rut clay;
but his blood badges the route to destruction.
(Death of William Rufus by Neuville)