Remember, when we walked the Wolds,

the valley, that September night?

When shadows crept from every fold

full ripe the moon swelled into sight

 

and stile and sheep-trod marked our way

to where no human voice was heard,

just jackdaw watched, and rabbit played

and pheasant, that man-nurtured bird,

 

feigned loud its freedom in the wood

till one paternal shot cracked out.

So much for trust reared not in love.

No bond is ever free from doubt.

 

You have no rights to post comments