Foxgloves Is it milky blue or shimmering azure white?An English summer sky this hot July afternoonIs not telling. Below me in a small field, lined with oak, chestnut and elmMy son and his step-father PaulInstruct three women in the art of hay-baling.All Emett* from up here, but Paul’s home-spun deviceIs working. Stuff the upright open … Continue reading Foxgloves