halftwo
Wird Batcher
The church dark, church quiet wood
The sun striking through the stained glass
Of autumn leaves: the silent branches pews.
In dark recesses Redwings whisper
And the consonant tsks of Song Thrushes
Disapprove the profane intrusion.
High in the rafters, in a cobwebbed
Hallowed hollow a bark-patterned Treecreeper
Picks at a Treecreeper-patterned bark.
Back out into light: an icy sky,
Cirrus-scraped cathedral dome high over the hill,
Then a hunting head-down Kestrel puts to flight
The bunting flock from the stubble
And those finches from the hedges,
And from the field the eye catches
The flicker of wagtails
Rising and twisting their escape.
The sun striking through the stained glass
Of autumn leaves: the silent branches pews.
In dark recesses Redwings whisper
And the consonant tsks of Song Thrushes
Disapprove the profane intrusion.
High in the rafters, in a cobwebbed
Hallowed hollow a bark-patterned Treecreeper
Picks at a Treecreeper-patterned bark.
Back out into light: an icy sky,
Cirrus-scraped cathedral dome high over the hill,
Then a hunting head-down Kestrel puts to flight
The bunting flock from the stubble
And those finches from the hedges,
And from the field the eye catches
The flicker of wagtails
Rising and twisting their escape.