06-01-2016, 08:34 PM
Breech-born, the humble bracken bows to rise in Spring.
Fresh fronds unfurl and fly by bells hung blue on blue.
If ring they could, the peals would call and wake more dead
from crackling cover on the ground; but new life comes.
See there, and there, pale flags rise up on purpled poles
straight as the shafts of shadow-shapes in misted mornings.
Each warming day the host uncurls, flinging fractals,
greening ground which once was tinged by shades of sky.
The canopy but three feet high, makes down below an underworld.
All that would grow, if not by now, is left in gloom
to wither in the green, green grave; the battle lost.
So why the servile hunched-up heave? The bent, defeated birth?
Your destiny is yearly tried; banks, slopes and fells you claim.
Unless, of course, by stealth you gain, until one day
all will be yours…and no one notices you'd won.
tectak
2016
Fresh fronds unfurl and fly by bells hung blue on blue.
If ring they could, the peals would call and wake more dead
from crackling cover on the ground; but new life comes.
See there, and there, pale flags rise up on purpled poles
straight as the shafts of shadow-shapes in misted mornings.
Each warming day the host uncurls, flinging fractals,
greening ground which once was tinged by shades of sky.
The canopy but three feet high, makes down below an underworld.
All that would grow, if not by now, is left in gloom
to wither in the green, green grave; the battle lost.
So why the servile hunched-up heave? The bent, defeated birth?
Your destiny is yearly tried; banks, slopes and fells you claim.
Unless, of course, by stealth you gain, until one day
all will be yours…and no one notices you'd won.
tectak
2016