Uncategorized, Writing

Upon the misted veil of solemn moors

the howling wind did come to pass,

Blew grey snow beneath the trees

and made the heath show white to black;

Shades of evening rolled on in,

Empty branches shivered bare,

Yet a body of tree stood limped; frail,

A wizened oak for centuries there.

The rock face sheer, silent, stood behind

its protector glad in wooden mail,

Gritstone shield for winter’s sword

and the axe of night to no avail,

All left the oak to stand alone,

No more shoots from earth arise,

The furies of storms swooped to provoke

The crack of thunder, lightning cries-

The oak did not stir from its place,

Roots well burrowed in frozen ground,

Within itself it remembered life,

The smell of summer and the blackbird’s sound;

How the creatures of nature refuge amongst

the scars of hearts that men have carved,

With their lovers and a rusted blade

before sitting where the ground now starves.

The oak can only look to days of spring

to warm its gelid, bitter core,

And there it shall enjoy its days

before winter creeps and kills once more.

3 thoughts on “WAITING – A POEM

  1. Lovely! For some reason, the poem gave me flashbacks of the Romantic poets (Keats, Wordsworth, Coleridge) whom I’d read back in university. Hope to read more poems from you.


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