Black ties, white shirts, crumpled suits.
Men of a certain age.
Sombre, respectful.
The cortège moves on.
Eyes wide and staring.
The sheep, her back broken,
Is filled with fear.
The farmer raises his gun.
Rabbits grazing.
The stoat decides
On the one
Who will feed her family.
A beautiful new born baby,
Cradled in a mother’s arms,
Still-born. It’s time,
Says the tearful nurse.
The giant oak,
Its mighty trunk
Lies fallen on the forest floor
Victim of the tempest.
The rock, granite hard,
A million years old,
Yields to the softness of water,
And is rent by the flow of the stream.
The remains of the blue speckled egg shell,
Litter the floor.
The chick has hatched.
And thrives.
Life holds on.
Reflections on life in Poetry and Prose. 