Through the chill mist comes the honk of lonely goose
From an island over in the stream
Somewhere out of view
In the grey light of early day
In the field cattle stand
Lowing, guiding the days bright entrance
Chewing cud and grass
Viewing world with watchful eye
From nowhere the wheezing whoosh of wings
Tells us of swans arising
On tall columns of milk frothed air
Ahead on dewy bank
A heron statued stands
A grey sentry to our approach
Along path
Sided sometimes by sloes
In their season
Distant comes the whispering
Watery sound of weir
And mill and stream
And the church bell tolling
This hour of dawn
At the gate in the corner we turn
And homeward head
To a world more frantic
Than this timeless place
22/04/1998
© 2018, Adrian North. All rights reserved.
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