bounding on the woodland green.
Bounce and bubble, hiss and sing.
Splash a spray on Heron’s wing.
Over rock; roll, boil and spout
making stairway for the trout.
Through the gorge in raging rush,
giggling in the underbrush.
Running by the grassy glade,
where the Coney path is laid.
‘Neath the Oak grove’s darkened leaf:
Haunt of ancient robber chief.
Muddy beach and shingle shore,
silent waters slowly pour.
Drifting o’er reflected sky,
hovering magic dragonfly.
Silver thorax gleaming bright
twirling wings throw rainbow light.
Alder, Willow, drape the banks;
veils that sway on Dancer’s flanks.
Wagtail paddle, Dipper bird dive;
from the Dancer’s store they thrive.
Combed like horse tails for a show,
submerged Water Crowfoot flow.
Rat and shrew and water vole,
nestled in a streamside hole.
Yellowflag Iris blazing bold,
Purple Loosestrife, Marigold.
Patterns paint on waters edge,
hailing Warbler in the sedge.
Surging life force never sleeps
where the Forest Dancer leaps.
Could have sworn I'd already posted this.
We unfashionable Romantic poets, are only partially in this world, y'know!
No comments:
Post a Comment