I rest,

I rest,

On an ancient barrow

The mound is firm and cold

The grass, green and lush

My mother would have warned me

About the stains on my trousers

Never coming out in the wash.

The earth doesn’t care

It is barely tolerant of my existence

Unyielding in its defiance

Even when it can be so easily dispersed

By the heavy machinery of man

The bulk of it is rarely troubled

To give me the time of day

The birds are much the same

In fact, everything I behold either ignores my efforts

To engage

Or is startled by my appearance and darts away

Hiding in the undergrowth

Peering through leaves

Out from behind the trees

Between the stalks of reeds growing by the side of the river

Where the Ducks play who dares wins

With the Cygnets.

Some people seem to recognise a fellow traveller

Nodding as they walk by

Looking almost lost

Perhaps it is a common theme

Why do we believe wild animals are in need of domestication

When so many people

Have a mind to wander.

A rabbit dissolves into the corn

Deer in the field over by the water tower

Mope around contentedly

Munching on this and that

Nuzzling each other for comfort

Unaffected by the bustle of a nearby road

But as soon as I stand they jump back

As if I was carrying a loaded gun

Darting off into the shade of a copse of silver birch.

Some people watch them go,

Tired looking souls

With inadequate footwear

And then carry on walking,

Talking to each other, themselves,

Caught up in their own escape.

I picture myself in a world full of laughter

Even though it is difficult enough

To raise a smile

The sky above is a welcome relief

From the weight of the world.

How many crows would it take to carry me off

So many stories begin that way

With an improbable premise

When everybody knows

The Emperor wears no clothes.

Before too long I will reach another crossroads

Perhaps I could bury a wish

And come back at midnight

But the only Devils I know

Are too busy building empires

To spend time dancing

In the dark with a shadow

That may turn out to be a monster

Or an angel.

Where did the promise of yesterday go

When all is said

The footpath is as busy with stories

As the highway

Maybe I need to find a better way

If I can keep a sense of direction

Perhaps I will come upon one better suited to my needs.