An amazing morning in almost May
Too early for the woodpecker to tap,
Soft, green leaves wave in honour of the day,
I slow down, breathe in, and then I stop.
These few acres hold a world within
Their old walls, graffitied railway fence,
They care for lungs where city air is thin,
And petrol fumes have ambushed what was once
Pure. Sometime if I squint it almost seems
To be a country wood, a meadow in the sun
But these may be an old poet’s dreams.
I shake myself, the magic is all done.
And then a sound that catches me and thrills,
The woodpecker awakes. And then he drills.