Sunday, November 20, 2016

"Bosavern Magic"

Burning the embers of a distant pasture,
banging the drums of our destinies to come,
feeling the best of what's here and thereafter,
my unknown future has finally begun.

Crows singing their songs of wisdom,
mountain grasslands and flightless dreams,
yellow fields of harvest in the distance,
trees that talk and emotions of peace.

Stone-fuelled wonders with warmth from the cold air,
pushing the wind through the smallest of leaves,
derelict mines and stories of folklore,
organic smiles and broken chimneys.

Watching the sunset blinding my eyesight,
listening to the birds chorus with ease,
cloud formations gather on the skyline,
as my captured energy is released.

Andy Simpson, November 2016.

Andy is currently volunteering on the farm as a wwoofer, and wrote this poem whilst sitting outside the cob roundhouse.

No comments:

Post a Comment