Early rays of sunshine filter through the trees,
The Robin on the chair-arm with my presence he’s at ease.
Those damn accursed pigeons coo-cooing in the Yew,
The course of fox’s footprints is marked-out in the dew.
The Blackbird stands and stares, his ground he will not give,
Those worms that are in front of me he needs them for to live.
The church bells now are silent the graveyard is all mine,
There are no folk around just now for Mass is not till nine.
You hear a rustling in the tree and catch a sight of it,
That bushy-tailed squirrel from bough to bough it flits.
Early morning traffic comes rushing down the lane,
It breaks the silence with its noise; it is my hate, my bane.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment