The Wood at Dusk ... In Spring.
Such a busy-ness of living
Birth and rebirth is the tune
Great matriachs of the wood aspire
To reach, to embrace, the sinking sun.
Many green shades in friendly shadows
Weave secret lairs and dusky bowers
Tender couches of grass and sunbeams
Hide wild faces in the dimpsy hour.
A silky sylvan breeze coyly luffs
The tepid breath off distant hills
Whispering legends of the dawning
Stirring violet, anemone and daffodil.
Come the final smile of evening
When sunset ribbons westward stream
Then a molten, golden pouring
Gilds the bowl of heaven still.
Wild things trip and slip and scrurry
Drinking scents of wood and wold
Evening cool scents, hungry new scents
Dew washed, star bathed, timeless, bold.
Call it dimpsy, gloaming or the twilight.
'Tis the ending of the day
A silent, expectant time of waiting
For night to fall in wood and brae.
Spring dusk in wooded glade comes but slowly
Flowing as music from the pipes of Pan
Sweetly, greenly, wildly splendid
Touching the soul of mortal man.
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The Wood at Dawn ... In Spring
Old Tod Fox is a-homing
Deer are feeding, soon for couching
Badger Brock, he flees the sunrise
And cushats croodle on and on.
Young woodland green is suddenly golden
Beech leaves glean the new born warmth
Growing tender, lush and ripe for eating
Squirrels bite, nibble, rush.
Dew drop diamonds lie in carpets
Strewn o'er starred anemone leaves
Clinging to bristling wood mouse whiskers
The sweetest drop of Natures please.
Sunlight falls as liquid heaven
Striking the wayward heart of Pan
'Neath the tall trees night airs linger
The midnight breath of ancient legends
Rich in mystery, cold forged in freedom
A ballad sung ere the tread of man.
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ESTÀS LLEGINT
WOOD POETRY
PoesiaA collection of poetry inspired by a life in an English wood. Meet the animals and birds. Experience the seasons. Enjoy the sunshine, the rain, the mist and the snow.
