
We are the fallen
but we are the golden too –
spring shall always come
Copyright Francis 2021

The plough crows follow
In furrow across fields
Till seasons to sow
Copyright Francis 2021

I caught your bright eyes staring at me;
I was sorry to interrupt you plucking your kill.
Then instantly up and away
You were gone like an arrow, carcass in talons
Over low fences and hedges,
Between houses to some hidden place.
I admire your nobility, the efficiency
Of your skill, your craft.
And I understand your reticence
To share your life with mine,
Your instinct for isolation.
So go beautiful bird, take what you need
To survive, whilst I am entrapped, devoid of nature,
Simply scared to be alive
Copyright Francis 2021

Along the river
some weeping willows hanging
in morning’s shiver
Copyright Francis 2021