They must cross the barren earth
Where once wheat and
barley grew
A land where nothing
lives in the mud
And an eerie silence hugs
the land
Until the chattering
of machine gun fire
Breaks the quietness
of the morning
And hails of bullets
cut like a scythe
Until like wheat and
barley they fall
The mighty oak lay broken
In the wake of the
storm
And I am deeply
saddened
For as a boy I climbed
Its mighty steadfast
trunk
And sat amongst its
limbs
Sheltering beneath its
canopy
As generations of small
boys
Had done many times
before me
But then I saw an
acorn
On the ground beside
my feet
So, I picked it up and
smiled
And took it home with
me
So, I could grow his
son
Though winter snow still lies
In the wood’s
bluebells grow
Appearing like
sapphire jewels
Through the thawing
snow
The powerful and beautiful song
Of the common nightingale
Has a songful rhythm
and rhyme
And the small passerine
bird
Whose voice belies its
size
Has beauty that strikes
a chord
A beautiful winter’s morning
When mist conceals the sunrise,
And nestles between
The frosty shadows of the trees,
And footsteps crunch
Through the crystal patterns
Of the crisp hoar frost
Nocturnal creatures scurry
And bats take flight
As the owl stands
sentinel
Over a woodland night
In a river, barely worthy of the name,
Where the gentle water
trickles back
Towards a greater
watery world,
Lives the humble
little stickleback
