a vernal imposition

[Benjamin]

ducks skittered on the mere

and lichen had greened the drystone wall

up to a wooden stile

and spring-bare routes forked into the woods

as I whistled my way

with early shouters of crows and doves

 

the unfamiliar path

with its whisp'ring wind encircled trees

hoarded old rotting leaves

they seemed quite dry but hid spongy loam

and saturated pap

that sucked at my feet to drag me down

 

and while the morning sun

lit up green boles and budding branches

I began to panic

my stick sank deeper as I probed

so did my ankles too

and I feared it was my time to go

 

for roots wrapped round my knees

until slowly I was pulled under

and I thought of winter

of the pain of death-- and all the time

gnarled faces smiled at me

till I felt a comfort deep inside

 

then I awoke-- looked down

at the skittering ducks on the mere

and felt the warm sun-- here

on my branches filled with buds-- and rife

with energy which has never known

the brevity of life

[David W. Parsley]

Interesting title, Benjamin. A dream like venture through a premonition of death mixed with faint memories of youth. Dampness and chill mix sensously with sunlight, distant splash of waterfowl.

 

Nice!

- Dave