Reality?

A glance and I am hooked for who could read

Or paddle a computer when this view

Demands indulgence.  Who can heed

The night's concerns or work we should pursue?

Frosted vales await the morning's burn

And sheep stand idly as the stealing sun

Inches across the pasture to each in turn.

Rabbits, caught out, twitch and then are gone

In bolts of fluff into the shadowed bank,

Where primroses and daffodils ensure

My sentiments continue to give thanks

That this Wordsworthian moment is so pure.

          But then, a call to say my father's ill,

          Drowns happiness I'd come to feel.

Brian Hick March 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 4.3.22