
Stopping on the bridge;
a low flying egret heads
into hanging mists
Copyright Francis 2021
Stopping on the bridge;
a low flying egret heads
into hanging mists
Copyright Francis 2021
Seasons mutating,
a lone cormorant drying —
the sun breaking through
Copyright Francis 2021
A robin singing
from his heart, the only way —
living the moment
Copyright Francis 2021
Birds announce the spring
whilst winter’s cold grasp lingers.
Waiting can be sweet
Copyright Francis 2021
Cold easterly wind
bringing snow and lurid light —
starlings gathering
Through the creeping light
night and day undivided;
a thousand birdsongs
Copyright Francis 2021
Snow’s big flakes
Birds watch from branches
Fires crackling
Copyright Francis 2021
Chattering sparrows
sheltered in frozen hedges
Wise conversation
By the hard side
of the shore,
abutments jutting out
into raging waves,
I paused,
an incessant gale buffeting
my puny frame.
Dark promontories
primed me through sea mist;
they caught my gaze,
my historic sense,
like the herring gulls circling,
riding the howling wind.
I sensed you there,
your sea-grey eyes
staring into nothing,
your soft sing-song voice
of the Borders,
ready to spoil me with sweets,
port and lemon clutched
in your wizened hand.
Somehow you were left
in this nebulous place,
our collective cries screaming
“mother! mother!” —
plaintive calls unheard
in an entangled realm of souls,
given over to the elements.
Copyright Francis 2021