The sky above me
looked down upon me
belittling my stature,
and questioning my joie de vivre.;
but I am a forgiving sort,
and thought,
that one ought
not to be bought
by a condescending sky.
I, am bigger than that.
We walk along lanes,
where the songs of birds abound,
and we smile a lot.
Monday:
The rain it fell
and well it did,
the worms that hid
deep in the ground
surfaced to see the Sun,
and, as one, became targets
for the blackbird.
The worms were destined
to be winter fare;
which is not fair,
but Nature is like that.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #birds, #blackbird, #Monday, #poetry. #poem, nature, Rain, weather
Saturday:
Below, in the midst of the snow,
seeking a worm for a snack,
a blackbird pecked around,
the ground was frozen,
the worms had sought deep refuge,
and the blackbird’s efforts
were to no avail,
but keep on it must.
.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #birds, #FrozenGround, #poetry. #poem, #Saturday, #Snow, #Worms, nature, weather
A quiet Sunday morning walk,
with just the sound of flittering birds,
as the dogs and I traverse the country lanes.
Further on, the cry of new-born lambs
from a field, a distance away,
that is dotted with many off-white clouds of fleece.
Other fields have grazing cows,
quieter in their ruminations,
while yet others are carpeted with growing crops of an unknown type.
Two horses freely digest their findings,
conversing sparingly with their neighbours, another herd of grazing cows.
I tip my hat to the morning,
and offer thanks
A carpet of leaves,
with a russet and yellow pattern
that changes in the breeze,
and is added to from the trees around.
Leaves left untidily in heaps,
or seemingly strewn about
with gay abandon;
Nature is having a brief glimpse at regaining
its dominion –
and, now, it’s started raining.
The Sun is low on the horizon,
and my shadow is 100 yards long,
the birds are singing their evening chorus,
and nothing of this moment is wrong.
In the distance
I can see black and white cows
crossing the green and brown fields,
their destinations unknown to me.
.
In the sky
gulls and crows and various birds
are passing from one horizon to another
their destinations also unknown to me.
.
Close by
in the hedgerows
tiny feathered friends tweet their messages
of information unknown to me.
.
I stand here and all this circles around me.
Your plaice or mine?
Neither.
The plaice is its own property,
and we should leave it alone,
to hover and hoover above the sea floor.
And, what’s more,
I side with all the fishes,
a-swimming in the sea.
I’m just a bee in a flower,
hour upon hour,
not the same one, obviously,
lots of different ones;
because I’m a bee,
and flowers, I find,
are attractive to me.
Graeme Sandford 