The black birds were arguing This morning When I sat On my lichen laced seat of stone. With their feathers in a tight twist I got the impression I was intruding In a domestic Spat In seconds they deserted me In an AWOL leap at full throttle They screeched goodbye. I was left to hear a tractor at work in the vines double stitching the woolly lines, Turning over the rough edges Salvaging red earth right to the corners. The birds must look down and see A homemade game board Ideal For snakes and ladders In rust and green Fit for local children Who I dream Would like to play here When they bore of their phone. Beyond all this At the foot of the arid steep slopes The motorway drums away Throwing out decibels That threaten to burst the seams. A human shift, Stretching the valley beyond its means But the fields, birds and the woods They are kindhearted, They forgive the intrusion More readily than me. They simply hear A hymn drumming In worship To the status quo
Most enjoyable, a lovely snippet of life Pipp .