In this puddled field
cricket-blithe after the rain
where frogs rattle and croak deep in grass-hung ditches
I hear the lowing of cattle long gone,
a plaintive moan blowing between the trees
dripping from spring-hazed branches of a different time.
Woodpecker remembers and thrush,
though the hedges are sparse now,
meagre as a cold spring.
They remember days that never ended
carried on the nightingale’s song
moonlit-dancing through the woods.
Silver-dewed and dropped
the field where the pheasant coughs
too shiny new to know anything but triumph
in his hard-won freedom.
Looks a little bit like paradise. Yes, nature won the challenge another year again. 😉 Have a nice evening, Jane! Best wishes, Michael
Thanks Michael, you too 🙂
Beautiful, Jane (poem and photo). I like how you mingle past and present here–as remembering does. Some lovely phrases here!
Thank you 🙂 There’s enough of the past left to be able to imagine it.
🙂
Such a spring green and a spring song too. (K)
If only the sun would come back!
It showed up for us yesterday…now back to grey drizzle.
Sun’s trying here.