Richard Stewart
Here at Fakenham Wood
There is a majesty about hares
Difficult to define or decipher,
Well beyond the urbane
Usage of similes or metaphors.
A roe deer, rippling like raw silk
Through a field of barley,
Runs it close
But a hare seems to move
As if having shed all conscious effort
No longer of simple substance
But existing in another dimension.
And Boudicca marching to Camulodunum,
The blood lust strong in her breast,
Knew it too, let one pass
Unmolested through her war camp
On the eve of battle, thankful
That the Gods had sent
Such a messenger to bless their cause.
Page(s) 18
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