Wednesday, 15 January 2014

An Egret and a Flock of Llamas

Beside the bright, white windmills
Strung out across the field
An egret flew;
As if a tiny fragment
From the very tip of a blade,
Had made a bid for freedom;
A beautiful avian Eve,
Which from a turbine rib
Did this Adam, yield,
As if remaining static,
Merely harvesting the wind,
Were not sufficient,
Caused him frustration,
And he wished to know;
Liberty, and the ecstatic
Joy which is deficient
In a life of standing still.

And as I watched her go,
This piece of PVC snow,
With the same strong flight,
Purposeful yet slow,
My eye was drawn
To a softer whiteness,
A herd of fluffy backs
Below the crowd of clouds,
Billowing out of Drax,
As if little clumps
Of flossy condensation,
Had been turned into this flock;
These bits of God's beard,
From a child' s imagination,
Become cumulus nimbus
And then miraculous,
Glorious, cumulus llamas.

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