1348

The fields lie heavy, brown with broken soil,

Skirted by thin hedges and dull trees

That watch the ruttted silence, standing gaunt,

Until their branches mutter in the breeze.

No rats, no rabbits, no birdsong from the sky,

No sign of life, no hint of coming spring,

No cattle out to pasture, no new lambs,

No buds, no green, no insects on the wing

To hint that under all this sense of loss

The future fights to break unto the light;

Each root stabbing down as shoots rise up

Before exploding, ravishing my sight.

While you, who had this planned right from the start

Enjoy the silence of a thankful heart.

Brian Hick March 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 28.3.25