The Wood and the Trees
by Nicola Garden
nicky@caiplich.co.uk
The scent of vapour rising, hidden
streams
Of budding birch, of garlic, earth,
of spring;
The tail-end wisps of winter nip
that team
With tales of triumph: animals that
bring
Themselves unaided through the
frozen moons,
So close to man, invisible,
unknown.
I envy them the map that God has
drawn
Upon their
brains. We weigh the odds alone.
He gives us words and choice and
prayer but
The clues He gives confuse and
contradict.
Outlandish
baying. Dogs? A stag in rut?
In March? Aroused, I wait. The flowers picked
Forgotten. Overhead a flight of swans
Sweeps clean the winter’s dregs for
summer dawns.
©2006 Nicola Garden
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