deepundergroundpoetry.com
Chapel in the wood
I leaned the leaning gate
beside the wood and pasture
more to think than rest;
slow clouds, heavy and grey
made their leisurely westward
journey, a bad sign; cold tomorrow
you can bet your gloves on that,
four layers today, five tomorrow.
Every day I'm here, just me and Jack,
I know each stick and rabbit hole;
miles from anywhere and mobiles
I love the handsome naves of pine
reaching for the sky random laid,
tumult vaulting, pagan, raw nature.
There is a corner hid away
deep yew, dew and holly,
a chapel with no candles,
dark, discrete, where I dare not.
I hear rumours from the starlings,
who pay tribute every day . .
foolish to believe, The wise owl
calls . . . never says a word.
Whom to ask as I lean the gate
leaning by the wood and pasture ?
I must to the chapel, subdue fear
seek once,find and pay tribute,
once will be enough . .just once.
beside the wood and pasture
more to think than rest;
slow clouds, heavy and grey
made their leisurely westward
journey, a bad sign; cold tomorrow
you can bet your gloves on that,
four layers today, five tomorrow.
Every day I'm here, just me and Jack,
I know each stick and rabbit hole;
miles from anywhere and mobiles
I love the handsome naves of pine
reaching for the sky random laid,
tumult vaulting, pagan, raw nature.
There is a corner hid away
deep yew, dew and holly,
a chapel with no candles,
dark, discrete, where I dare not.
I hear rumours from the starlings,
who pay tribute every day . .
foolish to believe, The wise owl
calls . . . never says a word.
Whom to ask as I lean the gate
leaning by the wood and pasture ?
I must to the chapel, subdue fear
seek once,find and pay tribute,
once will be enough . .just once.
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