A hawk hangs low in the sky

Tethered by invisible string

Held, perhaps, by child’s hand or spirit

Above the grassy common.

A cloud rises from the ground,

A familiar place, trodden many times

When out of breath or

Clutching at the arm of a loved one.

Brambles and bushes, waning light

Birdsong fading with the day,

As twilight creeps into the air

Lifts you, and takes you away.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.