Wassail

'Wassail' by Jonathan Wooding

Oddling bee, take your bearings, quickener,
burr and bless from bud to breaking brier.
Caper through lamb’s tails, weave and waver

spring’s sweet salmagundi
and, having nothing, yet possess all.
Dash thy feet over seeded nooks
and crannies, where your treasure also is.

And idling butterfly, bathe your peacock wings,
turn ye even with all your heart,
your coppery ommateum,

to sun’s blind ocellus in the skin-blue sky.
Give us prospicience,

now, and in secret,
and for all our days.

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