halftwo
Wird Batcher
Descending the falling slope,
The land hemmed between the high hedges
Standing horses, heads above these
Hurdles gaze,
Dark and solid, watching Yellowhammers flickering into shelter
Amongst the dense thorns,
Disappearing into deepening shadows
Now the sky washes watercolour pinks to greys
Down to the river's tunnel under the trees' arch
The brilliant blue back
Of the Kingfisher's silent flight
Comes to nodding rest: the float on the rod,
Then darts into the dusk as the querulous
Call of a Tawny Owl wobbles from the woods.
The land hemmed between the high hedges
Standing horses, heads above these
Hurdles gaze,
Dark and solid, watching Yellowhammers flickering into shelter
Amongst the dense thorns,
Disappearing into deepening shadows
Now the sky washes watercolour pinks to greys
Down to the river's tunnel under the trees' arch
The brilliant blue back
Of the Kingfisher's silent flight
Comes to nodding rest: the float on the rod,
Then darts into the dusk as the querulous
Call of a Tawny Owl wobbles from the woods.
