halftwo
Wird Batcher
The cloak black Blackbird slips between shadows to gulp the haw,
As a Greenfinch, sitting sideways along the sycamore
Gnaws at hips, scissoring the red fruit, sorting seed.
The time bomb tick of Robins:
A Wren churrs an alarm from the briar,
Bar-tail cocked, wingtips vibrating.
The wind pushes like a tide against the beeches,
As fish-sided cirrus swim across the sky:
A world turned on the season.
In the juxtaposition of holly and oak two Goldcrests
Almost hidden between wet-red berry and glossy leaf
Disappear beyond the probing sun into deep darkness.
Beyond the bank of the burning hedge
A solitary Skylark dribbles its honeydew against
The blue, undulating on a rise above the stubble.
As a Greenfinch, sitting sideways along the sycamore
Gnaws at hips, scissoring the red fruit, sorting seed.
The time bomb tick of Robins:
A Wren churrs an alarm from the briar,
Bar-tail cocked, wingtips vibrating.
The wind pushes like a tide against the beeches,
As fish-sided cirrus swim across the sky:
A world turned on the season.
In the juxtaposition of holly and oak two Goldcrests
Almost hidden between wet-red berry and glossy leaf
Disappear beyond the probing sun into deep darkness.
Beyond the bank of the burning hedge
A solitary Skylark dribbles its honeydew against
The blue, undulating on a rise above the stubble.
