Friday, 26 October 2012

The Caretaker

    Pat Brady asked me to keep an eye,
    and keep an eye I do,
    On trees and leaves, twigs and paths,
    streams and anything new.
    I walk on green and brown and gold,
    a carpet of fallen life,
    from oak and beech and sycamore,
    from willow and his wife.

    From boughs and branches, forks and stems,
    and limbs of lichen; yellow,
    We fill the fabric of forest life
    from wild, to calm and mellow.
    Stags and does and fawns
    abound, pine martin and kingfisher,
    The sultry mink, the bushy fox,
    for every well, a wisher.

    Sometimes I meet the evangelist,
    not Matthew, Mark or John,
    Tall as a tree, and straight as a rod,
    a Déise man and strong.
    Newcastle forest is in good hands,
    Sitka sheen and holly gloss,
    Every time our Saviour dies,
    pine or cedar is His cross.

    Germination of seeds and nuts
    bring us from winter to spring,
    Sprigs and buds and tiny sprouts
    start it all over again.
    They give us life, the air we breathe,
    Timber and fire and fruit,
    Here before us, here when we’re gone,
    Every mighty oak, every tiny shoot.



  1. Quiet reverence in the details . . . sweetness, peace. "Timber and fire and fruit" - these words just glow. The whole creation does the eye a world of good.

    1. kindness -- a cool form of pity.
      How true; pity is as useful as a fart in a spacesuit.Pity is a posthumous piety.
      As Omar Khayyám wrote,
      “The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
      Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
      Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
      Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
      thank you for the comment, Turquoise, P+P.