- Gina Douthwaite
- Last Updated: 30 September 2009
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.