First Morning Light

Pink light thin lines the valley edge

Sun rising cold March morning

The dying weakening grasp of winter’s frost

caress stone slate and bramble deadwood thorn

Daffodil cold drooped dropped heads

Patiently await the warming light

Whilst in moss wrapped dry stone walls

Blackbirds, Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa their gregorian chant,

Red breasted warriors proclaim kingship 

from a battlefield garden thrones

As the barking rooks their cacophony undertake.

Slow across illume skies the lone goose

calls, gather for now is the time of leaving.

Whilst distant field, mist shrouded cold

Lapwings sing songs of ancient past

A soulful salute to a remembering

Slow the cold winter’s embrace lingers

But greening buds now sing to a different tune

The song, as ordained, must change 

Now is Spring 

Time for seasons turning