…
Black boughed oaks, snow whitened hills
remnants of a great wood cut for Lydney’s iron mills.
…
I searched alone, a white haired boy,
catching unclean little owls with the slow sweep
of a green wool sweater.
…
I stared long into the eyes of Tawny owls
that in another age cured madness.
Jackdaws called my name from the river bank,
…
I saved them, from the waters rise,
wrapped them clustered close, in a dark green jerkin,
fed them, and on another day let them go back to the wild.
…
I dreamt of eagles, hawks and falcons,
but Robins flew to my call, and sat still in my hand.
….
At St Anne’s long strand where Irelands east coast clamoured,
black Jack ravens clawed at my brow, trying to roost
in dusks gathering glower, and the tides rush
…
while I stood listening to the Atlantic rollers roar,
and the weeping sigh of the one I loved.
…
©robcullen01122020
Celfypridd 