Larkrise

It’s party time, watch entry points,

rôle bouncers, rolls of curled barbed wire,

with beaters’ thrash, bash ’bout the bush,

to give the shooters clear free range

for pheasant, partridge, grouse the moor;

or stalkers, maybe, of the deer,

and dogs, hares coursing through their veins.

Despite the barbs, electric fence,

here larkrise in its spangled dream.

I hear far, fore I see its spin,

ascending and descending swirl,

free scaling notes in rise and fall,

but white light stealing sight from eyes

where curlicues drift, riff twirl in air.

Each height sinks slight then reignites

in upward spiral, tighter coil,

a slight bite further, dare to tear,

eviscerate all fear of drop.

So if you near its ode to joy

then watch your footing, springy turf

or you might trample, downland earth,

the nesting herald brough to birth.