the pheasant waits


the pheasant waits  (  stiaw tnasaehp eht  )

beneath the sun, within the spring

or summer's song upon the moor

as heather hues her purple patch

with specks of white from tor to tor

when eyes are light & bright's the view

as pipits twitch & plover roam

we wander of an afternoon

but scum the squall of autumn's gloam

as mist - it shawls, a shroud of cloud

a coat, a ghost or sort of cloak

a pheasant stalks up on the moor

& feasts upon the flesh of folk

sing balladeers & bearded goats

as mangles wring in winter's whips

so hide inside - steer clear the moor

until the thaw of drops & drips

until the choral coppice calls

with daffodils beside the road

until the woodland knells her bells

& so the croaks of crocus toad

but while the weasel breezes snap

& foxes trot as badgers snarl

the pheasant lurks beyond the birch

some say her name is craig or carl

hum mumbled yarns in rusted barns

the pheasant waits in bogs of peat

as ale is supped within the dale

she's horned & tall - at least ten feet

for centuries - we wander not

in dawn or eve or dregs of day

beyond the leas & stretch of trees

as death is there - or so they say






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