even the geese have flown

it was as I suspected
it was as I had feared
the footpath was deserted
the mountainside was cleared

empty were the pastures
where her goats had wandered free
the tinkling of their neck bells
no longer calling me

and in the valley woodland
I stood beneath the tree
where she and I first surveyed
the grasslands growing green

it was as I suspected
it was as I had feared
no more her lips to savour
no more her voice to hear

but will the spring return her
to my arms and to my side
in all my dreams I will conjure
my shepherdess, my guide

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birds, bees, badgers and trees

the mistlethrush trees
line the fields
are poplar
with the birds and bees

and badgers steel
the nuts and seeds
that fell from feeders
in the breeze

rowan, ash and hazel three
are coloured like a potpourri
with berries, acorns, witches wands
the magic spells of woodland songs

Woodland Will

Shush, the trees are sleeping
early morning, autumn, winter
limbs and boughs silently listening
for the chop chop of the woodsman’s axe

they know before their sap starts rising
that the will of the man will be done
for his fire there needs to be coppicing
and cries of timber felling

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Wood for the Trees

life can become overwhelming
for no obvious rhyme or reason
purpose and definition go astray

with no direction to call home
you lose yourself amongst wolves
and stray into darkened corners

but there are hands reaching out
and voices with reassuring words
waiting for your reappearance

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A Mighty Leaf

The mighty leaf lay on the ground
A blanket for the lost and found
Within the woodland’s earthy realm
We kissed at night beneath the elm

In daylight hours the sun had shined
Our hungry lips had warmly dined
On this and that and pleasant stuff
That quenched our love near enough

Seasons came and seasons passed
No-one questioned, no-one asked
Why the leaf turned crinkly brown
From winter’s cruel and frosty frown

But we all knew the months ahead
Would offer up more paths to tread
One for hardship, one for pain
And many days of freezing rain

But all good things to those who wait
Get on with life, don’t hesitate
For when the mighty leaf turns green
Spring’s passions will turn libertine

Bowerboy

He built his den
In winter woodland
In sight of paths and
Passing new friends

To weave the walls
With willow withies
He bent both knees
In spite of snowfalls

And like a magpie myth
Collected shiny wet stones
Feathers forged and blown
By nature’s blacksmith

Placed with care
His offerings glistened
In season christened
His love to share