Poem for March 15

Wonalancet Night Hear the air; restless sighs Through Conifer and Beech Cold branches wavering, Each vying for reach Shadows gather and mingle In fragmented plight Snow is the canvas On a Wonalancet night

Smell the air, freshly mowed In the yard of headstones Where the stars shine like diamonds And the dead rest their bones When the hatch is arisin' And the trout start to bite It's the right place to be On a Wonalancet night

Feel the air on your face Storm clouds blowing in Birds fleeing in warning Lightning crackles again Skies clear, the Moon smiles In flickering light Worth getting wet On a Wonalancet night

See the air, moving leaves As they dangle and dance Hanging on while they can But there's soil to enhance White face stares like an idol As if judging a fight There's a bit of the whimsical On a Wonalancet night.

Anonymous Tamworth