Thursday, 20 February 2014

Nineteen Trees

Woods undressed, foliage bare with intermittent flickering light to stare.
Haunting calls drowned with echo from somewhere close above,
Although you cannot see, beyond the canapé, you know who it is,
It is (buteo-full) buzzard mewing whilst gliding on up tipped wing.

A explosive “chick” so loud to scold, your too close the Pecker told,
Other times he tapped and trapped that sound which echoed all around,
Tree, bark stripped and full of holes, soon to be bedding for the Moles.
Crimson splash to dash of colour so bright to make the sight a delight.

Ant eating “yafflers” not to be outdone, “neighing” rafts of horsy laughs,
Underlating, bobbing, and dipping green with red to a distance fled it lead,
Watching you, do a bunk from the front of that trunk, just like a squirrel hides,
its sides, now you see me now you don’t, take a blink and I am gone in one.

(unfinished 20th Feb 2014)