Hoopoe calling

The London sun dripping ice.
Winds cold with a fervid bite.
Days dark, hazy nights darker still.
Smoke and mirrors. Front page.

Summer afternoons, bare feet on grass.
Hot 'Pindi sun beating down on a thin lass.
In the lawn reigns a mourning Cypress, so apt.
Hoopoe calling. Marigolds shining. My back page.