The Hare

THE HARE

Mystical, mythical mammal of twilight

And dawn. Long-legged creature

Whose antics delight.

Nature’s gift to those who linger.

Enigmatic leap-frogging

Player whose very sinew

And nerve is flexed. Seeing

With both fore and aft in view.

Flexible ears signal

And listen for enemies near

And far. Huge eyes the wherewithal

To see what they must fear.

Yet, though wary they may be,

There are few more playful creatures,

Full of life, they leap to see-

Off over-ardent suitors.

Dave Urmston c 2017

Photo: Dave Urmston

July - The Quiet Time

July – The Quiet Time

Where have all the birds gone?

‘A little bit of bread and no cheese,’

Or the occasional greenfinch wheeze.

But that is all said and done.

The larks have departed.

Thrushes become scarce

Birds as a whole are sparse

Even ‘chiff chaff’ is not repeated.

Our garden friends gone away

And only the clapping of pigeon

Offers a smidgeon

Of bird life to brighten our day.

No longer the sparrow’s cheery chatter

Is to be heard on the eaves,

Whilst tail-less magpies leave

Strangely silent, but no matter.

The sun sets without a sound

Whilst the dawn chorus

Is just not there for us.

Not a bird or song to be found. 

Dave Urmston c 2017