(Click over to enlarge - Northern Brown Argus on Rock Rose)
So silent to hear a primrose shine with song,
Whilst burgundy flutters by to tell the World,
She’s living on the edge of her paradise lost,
But scatters her love in hope for tomorrow.
A special rose of yellow adorns the roughs,
Where Argus is not but a giant and only a fly,
Yet flaps his wings to the radiant warm sun,
His dream to search where the angels lie.
High on a ride would be my lasting will,
To dodge the spirits that have flit before,
My colour is of earth or wood or tree,
I play my sweet viola, so not to frit away.
Let it ring across the scorched peaks
Where the air is thin and wanders bleak,
Up high you reach on upstretched wing,
In the land of which the Curlew sing.
Its Knott for me to taste the Scotch,
Nor Argue bold for we are sold to thee,
Why only here, you’ve chose your home,
Pray keep it strong, the side to roam.
6th April 2015 – Bryan Yorke