Inspired by Gerard Manley Hopkins poem Windhover
This morning, morning’s sungold shining joy brings the
Blackbird’s gold-beaked bosom-bounteous song
to fall and thaw the frost-iced grass and worm
crept early dawning from night’s silent grasp.
In anxious slumbering dreams I glide, through
Woods of owls, wave-riding, full-sail, prow-proud.
High octane heart, blood-bursting on the wonder
of day’s dawning before man works!
From this highborn, high-flown, high-blown careless bird;
Add a murmur of silent starling droves drenching
the sunset in dun-cloaked shapes of, night.
A portent? A wondrous-wonder of in held breath.
They fall, – full-falling-flutter to roosts in fallow fields.
Night and chill fill every copse-land, corpse-land,
wood-weary moor and mound.
He listens, that Fox, seeker, survivalist – the nether-hours ghost.
But wait, dawn whimpers through eyeless mist, decides,
with confidence to meet the sun, and play this endless game – once more!
– Hazel Brown, Feb 2017