This is the life l love to lead, this is the life l led
l roam among gods early peace, while the laggard lies
abed,
Never with more gladsome mind, do l hear the black-
birds song
And yet with ever small regret, feel time move me along.
The white owl floats on silent wings, two feet above the
grass
He turns before the hedgerow, to allow another pass,
His brood sit waiting patient, on a high ledge in the
barn
While a cocks crow breaks the silence, from a distant
sleeping farm.
Denuded ash trees line the banks, their dead leaves
fall like tears
They settle soft upon the flow, then drift away like years,
Like host of tiny galleons, some skitter on the breeze
While many line the squirrels drey, to keep out winters
freeze.
A hooded crow sits high aloft surveys the land around
The daffodils no longer dance, the rooks no longer sound,
The droning of the bee has stopped, the grasshopper has
gone
And a vixen coughs within the hedge, then silent travels
on.
The chaffinch call is missing now, the cuckoo moved
along
And the wild goose meets with kindred souls, impatient
to be gone,
The magpies search the hedgerows, for a small bird in
distress
While in the brook, the trout will weave, among the
watercress.
The wild duck silent, on the pond, with head tucked
neath the wing
A pale sky lighting up the east, the plover on the wing,
The linnets last song, low and sweet, a partridge eyes
the sky
For strike of winged assassin, like a lightning bolt from
high.
The lambs no longer gambol, and the sheep now in the
fold
While birds feed on dead thistle tops, their wings are
striped with gold,
l lean on rustic cattle gate, and watch the sun grow red
As grey lag fly, on half lit sky, across some distant sedge.
© Sammichon, 8 months ago
There is no beauty to match our creators, and my life changed when l was old enough to appreciate the fact, This poem is an example