halftwo
Wird Batcher
Through thorn and thistle the form of a crouching Hare,
Ribbon ears racing down its back,
Fast in the stillness, jumps from the shadows
And into the sun.
The ripple of Skylarks, pushing into the breeze.
Across the path in a bound the arc of a Stoat ends
Under the hedge then porpoises back out,
Ink-tipped tail and tooth-sharp eye.
Above: a Grey Wagtail, pennant tail quivering,
The final call of the Chiffchaff fades with
The finished summer.
The thin sound of Treecreeper:
Autumn seeps in insistently
As the tide.
Ribbon ears racing down its back,
Fast in the stillness, jumps from the shadows
And into the sun.
The ripple of Skylarks, pushing into the breeze.
Across the path in a bound the arc of a Stoat ends
Under the hedge then porpoises back out,
Ink-tipped tail and tooth-sharp eye.
Above: a Grey Wagtail, pennant tail quivering,
The final call of the Chiffchaff fades with
The finished summer.
The thin sound of Treecreeper:
Autumn seeps in insistently
As the tide.
