Thursday, 30 April 2015

Bride of Woods

From a rocky knoll amidst waves of russet fronds,
crisp to the touch, washed in autumnal sun,
I spied a fleet of silvery masts,
still amongst a purple mist, that oh so softly clung,
Like fleece jettisoned by flocks of passing sheep,
who roamed the fells and vales beneath my feet.

The ghostly galleons upon which I gazed,
once sailed forth on an October day,
In their millions they'd drifted there,
wave upon wave, borne on autumnal air,
To colonise an ice scoured sculpted land,
where masts of oak and ash would fail to stand.

I marvelled at the patchwork scene,
the undervalued birch bequeathed,
A pale skinned beauty, Bride of woods,
with silver robe and purple feathered hood,
She came and broke the Cailleach's spell,
to tame the bleak and barren fells,
Now where many had feared to go,
a multitude of species grow.

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